


Beauty in the Aftermath

by High-Seas-Swan (FangLang)



Category: Once Upon a Time (TV)
Genre: Alternate Universe - Modern Setting, F/M, Fluff and Hurt/Comfort, Slow Burn
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2018-10-02
Updated: 2019-01-15
Packaged: 2019-07-23 18:19:12
Rating: Mature
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 14
Words: 53,702
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/16164293
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FangLang/pseuds/High-Seas-Swan
Summary: Confronted with the sudden appearance of her birth parents, Emma, in a moment of panic, flees. She flees the diner, Storybrooke, the country. She finds herself a day later in the Dublin, Ireland Airport terminal wondering what the hell she has gotten herself into. With some fear, a little determination and a considerable amount of faking it along the way, she sets off on a trip she never planned on taking but needed more than she ever knew. She finds herself, she finds a Brit adrift on his own journey and finds out what home really means.





	1. Chapter 1

**Author's Note:**

> AN: I have to start by thanking @sambethe for encouraging my second CSBB try, without your message I don’t know if I would have ever found the courage to attempt this again. @imagnifika your art has made me smile more than you’ll know, thank you for bringing this story to life. @shippingtheswann Samantha! I couldn’t have asked for a better beta! Your kind words kept me going when I needed them most. And @halobxist & @meanderingcaptainswanmusings there would be no fic without you two. Thank you for everything. Finally, but not in the least, thanks to all that are running @captainswanbigbang and everyone involved. What an amazing, talented, lovely crew. So happy to be apart of this. Go check out all the fantastic stories and art that have been created for you!

 

“Granny, I got one for you,” Emma calls out from her spot at the counter. She swivels on the stool, pausing a moment to glance outside. Steely colored clouds hang low in the sky, threats of a storm looming close. The occasional fat raindrop dampens the empty sidewalk, keeping the locals inside their homes, leaving the diner quiet for the afternoon.

Emma spins back to face the kitchen doors and waits patiently for the woman everyone in town calls Granny to emerge. This is a regular game they play, and she knows the older woman is never able to resist.

A beep sounds beyond the swinging doors and moments later the rich aroma of spices and cheese; garlic, basil, and a hint of parmesan drift into the diner. Granny’s classic lasagna. Emma knows it’s only moments now before the woman behind the masterpiece makes her entrance.

She pulls a pencil from her apron and taps the eraser end against her teeth as she studies the New York Times crossword puzzle. She quickly scribbles in an easy answer and glances up when she hears the doors swing open. Granny, wiping her hands on a towel steps through with a look that says,  _ do your best _ .

Emma grins, Granny continues to watch her over rounded glasses that have slipped down her nose.

“A person who behaves without moral principles or a sense of responsibility, especially in sexual matters. Four letters.”

Emma shimmies on her perch, hoping for a reaction, but her boss only tuts, apparently unimpressed with the question’s lack of difficulty.

“Please try harder next time, dear. Wolf.”

The older woman turns to retreat back to the kitchen but pauses to tend to her messy curls atop her head. She delicately tucks a stray lock and raises her chin. 

“Although some do call me ‘Gran.’”

She leaves Emma with a wink, returning to her tasks in the kitchen and Emma snorts as she fills in the four letters. As she hears the pots and pans clang in the background, she briefly wonders if she can convince the older woman to whip up a batch of cookies.

The afternoon continues on; clues being called out, the scratch of pencil on paper. And when every box is filled, and a middle age man and woman settle into a corner booth with their food, Emma finds herself back at the counter, chin in hand. She absently turns the display holding postcards, round and round, until one of the waterfront catches her eye: a tall ship docked at sunset. Emma smiles as she remembers when the famous photo was taken. The ship, on its way up the coast, docked in Storybrooke due to a minor emergency. They now returned every year after being so well received in their moment of need. That was Storybrooke for you. 

Emma plucks the card from the rack and flips it over.

She absently writes her name and address, doodles small flowers down the side.

“You’ll have to pay for that, you know,” Granny announces, suddenly in front of her.

Emma only startles a moment before reaching into her tips and handing the woman a quarter. Granny makes a show of ringing her up and closes the cash with a flourish.

Emma tucks the card away in her apron.

“Everything ok over there?” Granny whispers, a small nod to the couple in the back.

They haven’t touched their food, too distracted by their own conversation, whispered words that neither Emma nor Granny can make out.

Emma shrugs.

“I’ve checked on them a few times. Very gracious, assured me everything is fine.”

Granny looks over again and nods absently just as something buzzes from her pocket. She pulls Emma’s phone out and holds it up as it vibrates again.

“This thing has been driving me crazy back there.”

Emma groans reading the name on her phone. She plucks it from Granny’s hand and silences it.

“Walsh,” she groans. “What was I thinking?”

Emma rubs her temples. She doesn’t need Granny to answer. She, along with everyone else, had let it be known what a terrible idea they all thought he was.

“I told him it was over. He told me I was making a mistake, that I wouldn’t get any better offers than his. He could show me the world. I was drinking a Guinness at the time, and so I told him I had actually just booked a trip to Ireland. Alone. I’ll show myself the world. Guess I’ll have to Photoshop myself into some pictures,” Emma explains, but before Granny can answer, they are interrupted by chairs scraping roughly against the diner floor.

Emma looks over to see the couple approaching, eyes wide. The petite woman with a dark pixie cut is clutching a manila envelope, her knuckles nearly white. Emma feels the small hairs on the back of her neck stand on edge. She tries to push the feeling away.

“I hope everything was to your liking?” Emma asks, her voice infused with a brightness she doesn’t quite feel, just as the man speaks up. He’s tall and blond, with just the hint of gray at his temples, and Emma can’t help but think he looks almost familiar.

“Are you leaving?” he asks.

Emma’s words stall in her throat at the anxious looks they both carry. Looks that are directed expressly at her. The woman may have tears in her eyes. Emma’s eyes flit to the man – actually, he may have tears as well.

“I – I know this isn’t the best time or place, but we heard you say you were leaving and we just, just found you,” the woman’s words come out in a stuttered rush. She stops herself and takes a deep breath. “Emma,” she says, almost tasting the name instead of saying it. Emma can’t make sense of what the woman is trying to say but her heart picks up, especially when she realizes she never told the woman her name. Before she can think to ask what the woman means, the man speaks up.

“What we are trying to say is, we believe you are our daughter,” the man’s words are even, but his eyes betray him, a lone tear escaping down his cheek.  

“David,” the woman quietly exclaims, likely not the way they had planned on breaking the news.

Her stomach drops away completely. She barely hears Granny gasp over the roaring in her ears,  _ are you out of your fucking mind? _ She thinks,  _ my parents abandoned me without a second thought. _

“Impossible,” she says instead, her eyes narrowing at these strangers.

“It’s tr--”

“You can’t be,” Emma cuts off the woman. “And who comes into a diner and announces something like this?”

The couple don't seem to mind her vehement denial, too intent on staring at her with sad eyes.

“We’ve been looking for years, different private investigators. We think, we--” the woman trails off as Emma looks away.

Emma’s eyes find Granny who looks as shocked as Emma feels.

“Could we sit down?” the man tries a different tactic. 

Sit down, with these people who think they are her parents? Emma’s mind races and she wants to be anywhere but here. She had never let herself believe a moment like this could happen. She isn’t equipped to deal with it and if these people really were her parents, where had they been? Why now?

Why leave her?

Emma feels the heat of tears behind her eyes and –

“I can’t. I’m leaving.” The devastation that crosses both their faces softens Emma’s resolve just a little, and she hesitates.  “I’m sorry. I just don’t have any time right now.”

She surprises herself with her lie and she’s grateful her voice doesn’t waver. Her eyes flit to Granny who visibly deflates, it’s a different kind of sadness Emma sees in the older woman’s eyes, but Granny nods all the same.

“Yes, Emma here actually needs to go home and pack. She’s leaving for Ireland in just a few hours, and Lord knows the girl hasn’t even begun packing,” Granny says, as she moves around to lay a gentle hand on the woman’s shoulder.

It’s clear the woman wants to say more, her eyes never leave Emma’s face, appearing to catalog every inch, but with a sudden determination, she thrusts the envelope she’s been clutching forward. Emma can’t help but accept it.

“Everything is in there, who we are, why we -” the woman’s voice cracks and she takes a deep breath. “Why we had to give you away. When you’re ready, please call or write, whatever you are comfortable with. We can wait, as long as it takes. Whenever. Please,” her last words are whispered but strong. Emma’s eyes bounce between them, trying to find a lie in her words but sees none.

The man reaches out but stops, his hand caught suspended halfway between them. With a sigh, he lets it fall but looks to her with the same determination as his partner.

“I’m David, and this is Mary Margaret, and we’ll be here. We’re sorry we weren’t before. More than you could ever know.”

There’s another beat of silence and Emma can’t find any words to fill it. The envelope feels heavy in her hands, but the hope and longing in their voices weighs heavier.

“I’ll, I’ll look it over,” Emma finally musters, and it seems to be enough. She receives watery smiles and nods before they slowly make their way to the exit. David (she tests the name in her mind a few times) holds the door open for Mary Margaret, giving Emma a last long look before following his wife out the door.

Emma stands dazed long after the bells signaling the couple's departure stopped ringing. There’s a tremor in her hands that she can’t stop, and she can’t tear her eyes away from the door until she feels Granny’s hand on her arm.

“Do you want to open it?” the older woman asks, in a voice gentler than Emma's ever heard.

She almost drops the envelope.

“No!” she nearly yells, suddenly wanting the envelope and all it contains as far away as possible.

“Well then, you better go pack for Ireland,” Granny responds, very matter-of-fact, her voice back to normal.

Emma looks at her like she has lost her mind.  _ She can’t go to Ireland. _

“I can’t go to Ireland.”

“Sure, you can. I know you have enough money saved away, I’m firing you from the diner, effective immediately, and I really hate that boss of yours at the bail bonds office. You can find something better when you get back. Spread your wings, dear. Sometimes distance can bring perspective.”

Emma sputters, unsure of which argument to attack first. It doesn’t make a difference either way because Granny doesn’t seem to care, already walking away. Emma can only watch as she disappears into the kitchen.

She looks down at the envelope, her name written in neat cursive on the front. She draws her finger over the lettering.

Granny bursts back through the doors, hands full. She drapes Emma’s coat over her arm, her purse over her head and captures her face.

“Go. Explore. Take care of you. The envelope can wait.”

With Emma’s face between her weathered hands, she kisses her forehead and whispers, “You can do this.”

Now, Emma  _ really _ is going to cry.

“I can’t,” Emma whispers, “this is crazy.”

“You can. You are stronger than you know. Go.”

She turns Emma towards the door and gives her a firm shove. All Emma can do is walk out of the diner and towards a very different future than the one she woke up to that morning.

**xo**

_ Fáilte go Aerfort Bhaile Átha Cliath _ . Welcome to Dublin Airport.

_ Oh, God. I think I might get sick.  _ Emma’s stomach twists as she looks up at the sign.

Emma had always expected her first trip abroad would be to one of the warm, sandy places Tink often went on about. Somewhere she could sip Mai Tais and live in her bikini. Except Emma always got in her own way, finding excuses and putting it off. In college, there were exams to study for and extra shifts at the diner to pick up, money to be saved. Graduation came with a paper bearing her name, but a degree in criminology wasn’t enough to quell her fears.

She still felt like the lost little girl she had always been. Sure, she grew up and found a circle of people who loved her. She plays house in a warm little one bedroom apartment, but it’s never been quite enough to chase away the ghosts of her past. And so as a result, instead of using her degree, she keeps it tucked away. She lets herself believe she will use it as soon as she’s ready _ , _ and stays with the status quo. She picks up shifts at the diner when she isn’t working at the bail bonds office. Chasing skips isn’t the best work, but dealing with other broken souls reminds her of her past and how quickly the life she built can slip away. So she keeps her money in the bank and her sandy dreams on hold.

But right now, as the moment threatens to overwhelm her, Emma shakes her head against her wandering thoughts. Yes, Emma absolutely believed her first trip would be relaxing and fun, not because she wanted to get as far away from her worries as possible. Sure, she is no stranger to running from her problems, but it has never led her across an ocean. This is new, even for an old pro such as herself.

Emma glances up at the sign again, backpack weighing heavy on her shoulders; she ran all the way to Ireland.

The limited hours of broken sleep had allowed her brief moments of selective amnesia but now, standing alone amongst the crowd near the baggage claim, reality slams full force into her gut, tying it in knots. She watches as friends chatter enthusiastically about where they are going first, and she has to shut her eyes against tearful family hugging in the distance if she doesn’t want to become her own crying mess.

She presses her palms against her eyes until stars bloom behind her lids and she refuses to let her mind bring forth the image of the petite woman with a dark hair and tears in her eyes. Although, the words still rattle around in her brain like a pinball machine.

_ “We just found you.” _

_ “We believe you’re our daughter.” _

She can still see the sadness warring with hope on the face of the golden-haired man as he held out his hand for her and she can still feel the envelope gripped between her fingers. The envelope that is sitting at the bottom of her suitcase, a suitcase she still needs to find.

“Ugh,” Emma groans and allows herself two more breaths; deep in, shaky out.

_ Nope, try again. _

Deep in, steady out.

Emma blinks her eyes open against the neon lights and focuses on the luggage carrousel: black duffle bag, purple hard shell, lonely car seat, and on and on. Her breath hitches at the sudden notion that her bag may be sitting somewhere else in the world, unclaimed.

Thankfully the panic is short-lived; her red suitcase slides down the shoot, an obnoxious bright orange sticker slapped across the front.  _ DANGER: HEAVY _ .

“Excuse me,” she mumbles, easing her way to the baggage claim and on her second try manages to heft the bag off the carousel. She slips back to the periphery of the crowd and blows a lock of hair out of her face. A little dazed, bag handle clutched in her right hand, she looks around for some sort of direction.

_ Carr ar Cíos _ , Car Rental.

Right, car rental.

With her next goal in focus, everything else becomes background noise. Navigating through the people, pack rumbling behind her, she follows the signs for  _ Carr ar Cios _ , Car Rental. She only pauses a brief moment when she sees a mailbox next to a small shop offering drinks and magazines. She reaches into her purse and pulls out the postcard from the counter at Granny’s. She traces the waterfront she knows so well and flips it over. Her name and address are already written out. She bites her lip in thought before approaching the store clerk.

“Excuse me, but would you have stamps for the United States?”

It only takes a moment to ring her up and another for her to figure out what to write on the back.

_ You can do this. I think. Good luck. _

She stares at the words, they aren’t glowing with confidence but they are somewhat truthful, and she has to start somewhere. She shakes her head and drops the postcard into the mailbox.

She looks around. Right, car rentals. And with renewed focus, she spots the counter she needs.

The paperwork goes smoothly, and before she has time to fully process it, her suitcase is stowed and she’s sitting in the car, staring wide eyed at where the steering wheel should be.

“I knew this. This isn’t a surprise,” she mumbles, still somewhat expecting the steering wheel to appear in front of her on the left side of the car. She gives herself one more moment to take in her surroundings before finally sliding over the center console and into the driver seat.

With the key in the ignition and the car idling, the digital clock flashes the numbers of the early morning hour. Half past seven. Emma does the math, two-thirty in the morning back in Storybrooke, everyone likely asleep. The burning behind her eyes threatens to return, but as her foot eases off the clutch and she presses on the gas, her concentration on the potential adventure ahead manages to hold her emotions at bay.

“At the roundabout, take the second exit.”

The sudden sound of the artificial voice breaks the silence, and the car jumps forward. Emma hiccups a laugh but manages to keep the vehicle moving forward.

And she just may have screamed through her first roundabout but she makes the second exit, but with that accomplishment, everything else seems a little less scary.

  



	2. Chapter 2

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I am just??!! a ball of emotions after all your kind words and love for chapter 1. Thank you (for reading!) for making this such a wonderful experience. I hope you continue to enjoy Emma’s trip and who she meets along the way ;) 
> 
> Always, always thanks to @shippingtheswann for the cheering and beta work, @imagnifika for the gorgeous art, and @halobxist & @meanderingcaptainswanmusings for everything xo. And all the high fives to all the other CSBB artists and authors! I’m blown away, I hope everyone is enjoying everyones hard work. 
> 
> And now at a small hostel in Ireland…

Emma lifts her face towards the ink black sky, the misty rain, refreshing against her whiskey pink cheeks. She winds her way up the small walk, the Bushmills slipping through her veins like melted caramel. The drink keeps her warm and her movements unhurried. A blissful smile still graces her face, thanks to the earlier kindness of strangers who crowded around her little table at the pub, offering their company and shared drinks. Four days removed from her near meltdown at the airport and she finally feels some of the tension that had followed her across the Atlantic slowly ebbing away.

She carefully types the lock code and shoulders the heavy oak door, tripping over the threshold into the hostel. She manages to right herself before any serious damage but gives a quick glance for any witnesses. Gratefully she finds none. She takes the stairs to the second floor lightly, not wanting to wake any of the sleeping guests and escapes into her own private room. She studies the four undisturbed bunk beds and wonders if she’s made the right choice. For a moment back in Storybrooke, sitting in her quiet apartment, she had thought of sharing her room.

That was the point of staying in hostels, meeting people, taking in the full experience.

Although, as her finger had hovered over the accept button, the unknown had weighed too heavily and she changed her selection from one to four beds and booked the whole room to herself. To make up for her cowardly decision, Emma tests her smile on other travellers and shares couches while reading her Lonely Planet guide book. And when the small connections become a little easier each time, she gives herself a mental high five.

She is jarred from her thoughts by a buzzing from her jacket pocket. Fishing out her phone, she immediately rolls her eyes at the bracketed number ten next to the name Ruby. She unlocks her camera and snaps a selfie.

**Call off the guards, Rubes. I’m safe and sound, see? But thank you. Miss you.**

She sends the text, along with the picture. A little bubble with blinking dots appears immediately.

**Pink cheeks! You look good, Ems. Glad you’re in safe. Send me an update tomorrow. Miss you too!**

Emma smiles, feeling a little emotional knowing someone is looking out for her, even if it is from almost three thousand miles away. She’s about to throw her phone on a bunk when it buzzes again.

**DRINK SOME WATER. Ok, I’ll leave you alone now. G’night.**

Emma snorts at the message but pads over to her bag and pulls out a water bottle. The deep pull of water gives her a full body shiver and immediately her brain goes to thoughts of a warm shower. She debates her situation only a moment: bed or shower?

The hope of finding what is quickly becoming the search for elusive hot water has her feet moving to her bag. She carefully avoids the large envelope still buried at the bottom - she’s become very good at ignoring its presence altogether - she grabs her towel and toiletries.

As soon as she enters the bathroom, warmth dances across her skin thanks to the steam billowing out from the far stall across the room. The guarantee of hot water spurs her into action and so begins an awkward show of disrobing under a towel. She teeters on one leg, gracelessly inching out of her jeans.

Emma catches her reflection in the mirror, hair tumbling out of her high bun, wisps curling around her face. The blush high on her cheeks, the green of her eyes clear and bright. She barely recognizes the woman in the mirror, but she halts her thoughts before she can get ahead of herself. Extolling the virtues of her trip, new life experiences and all the sentimental bullshit she hears from others feels a little premature. She narrows her eyes at her reflection.

“You’re drunk. Try this self-reflection again tomorrow,” Emma pauses her whispered scolding, “And stop talking to yourself.”

She gives another aggressive tug to her jeans that seem to have molded themselves to her legs with the dampness and nearly topples over.

It takes another few attempts, but she manages to shuck her pants off the rest of the way. She silently gives thanks that her shower mate is still occupied while she dumps all of her things on the counter and makes her way to a stall, politely leaving an empty shower between them. Turning around in the small space, she slides the lock and drapes her towel over the hook, wearily eyeing the push button for the shower. No room to ease into what will most likely be a cold blast. She holds her breath, tensing as she feels the first cool drops hit her, but her breath is expelled in a laughing puff when the water immediately warms.

She steps entirely under the stream and hangs her head forward, letting the water hit her neck and roll down her body. The moan that escapes her lips borders on obscene.

There is a clattering of a shampoo bottle hitting the ground and then silence from the other stall. Emma colors with a little embarrassment and hopes the other woman understands English.

“Sorry! I’m not, um… I just haven’t had a hot shower in a few days,” she calls out, her voice echoing in the now silent room, her shower mate’s water having abruptly stopped. She receives no response but hears their shower start up again. With a shrug, she presses her own button for continued water and hurries to wash her hair.

So lost in her shower she doesn’t hear the other shut off or anyone exit the room. She distractedly assumes she must have missed them leaving and quickly towels off.

With hands full of toiletries, she struggles to unlatch the stall while keeping her towel closed. She gets a half a step out of the stall and stops dead, mouth opening and closing with silent shock.

“I can explain.”

The words come from a man standing across the room from her. He is holding up one hand, but no, that would be wrong as there is no hand below his wrist, just a stump with light scarring. But the intent is the same, he’s trying to placate her like she is some skittish animal. And while it may be partly true, he didn’t need to know that, so Emma attempts to look as menacing as possible.

Well, as menacing as she can while nearly naked, her hands useless as they are keeping her towel firmly around her.

_ Dammit. _

She curses internally at how  _ not _ intimidating she must look.

Although he does take a small step back. What he doesn’t do is offer the explanation he promised. She takes the opportunity to study him further.

Clearly, in his haste to get across the room, he hadn’t yet dried off. Water drips in long rivulets from his nearly black hair. It trails down his arms, and through his coarse chest hair, a small pool accumulating around his flip flop covered feet.

Emma’s eyes dart behind him to where her clothes lie in a pile, as she calculates her quickest escape route.

“No need to panic, love. I’d hold up both arms in surrender but…” he trails off as he attempts an uncomfortable smile. Emma’s eyes narrow. They flick to the scrap of terry cloth he’s trying to pass off as a towel, riding low on his hips. His hand clenches where he holds the ends together, and he shifts from foot to foot, tucking his blunted arm behind his back.

A flush crawls up her neck, and she knows her face follows suit as she feels the heat blossom across her cheeks.

It’s not like she hasn’t seen a nearly naked man before. She’s seen plenty. Well, she’s seen a few at least.

A snort alerts her to the fact she must have been talking out loud. She looks up.

The smile he wears now is more genuine, and he takes a step forward.

“Don’t you dare move. This is the women’s bathroom,” Emma hisses through clenched teeth and clutches her towel tighter. His smile drops and he resumes his earlier position. “I’ll give you a small amount of credit for keeping your eyes up,” Emma mumbles trying to get a hand on the situation but no sooner are the words out of her mouth do his eyes drop. He takes her in from head to toe.

“Hey!”

“Shit. You pointed it out, and you know what happens when you are told to not do something?” he quickly tries to explain bringing his eyes up, a new flush on his cheeks. “Apologies…” he trails off fishing for her name.

She rolls her eyes.

“In your dreams, buddy.”

“Killian actually, and I think my dreams can definitely fill in the minor blanks,” he waves his wrist in her direction, but seems to catching himself, tucking his arm against his side. Or it could be her narrowed look. “Ahem. Sorry. Again. If you would just allow me,” her handsome—stop it, Emma—stranger, points to the exit but Emma can’t help but cut him off.

“To explain that you are a grade A creep?”

If she weren't so nervous, naked, and thrown over the whole late night situation, she would probably laugh at how visibly offended he was.

“Hey!” he objects, mouth set in a frown, but Emma’s mind already jumps to her next question.

“Where are your clothes?” she demands, taking a step forward, foolishly not wanting to back down from a battle. He brings his wrist up to rub at the scruff decorating his cheek, before rubbing the back of his neck.

“You see, um,” he hesitates and she takes the opportunity to jump in again.

“I see a pervert. Do you like to expose yourself? Is that it? Sneak into the women’s bathrooms and, and…” her words trail off at the incredulous look he gives her and by the way he struggles to keep his mouth in a thin line, she’s almost certain he’s laughing at her.

Instead of being offended she finds her own laugh bubbling up, and she clamps down on her bottom lip.

“I’ll admit it doesn’t look good but if you would just give me a chance to explain,” he requests, and she hears sincerity in his voice, so she stays quiet. He gives her a small smile. “The men’s lavatory has only one functioning shower, and even that is debatable. I thought I could just pop in here and no one would be the wiser. I left my belongings in the other room. Undoubtedly not my finest moment but here we are,” he finishes, and while his eyes are still on the exit, she takes a quick moment to look him over. She briefly notes the tattoo on his forearm, but soon the dark trail of hair that leads to the tiny towel is too much of a distraction.

“Eyes up here, love,” he smirks, catching her wandering. She huffs but doesn’t deny it, and reluctantly she has to admit he’s probably telling the truth. She is usually pretty good at detecting lies, and nothing seems off about him but…

“Why are you still here then? Why not just slip out?” she asks, carefully flexing her fingers. They ache from clutching her towel so tightly.

His eyes flick to something in his periphery and quickly fall back to her. He tilts his head towards the window; on the sill sits a brown leather satchel, propped against the window.

“May I?”

Emma nods slowly, still trying to piece it together.

With as much dignity as he can muster, his flip-flopped feet smacking against the floor, he walks to retrieve the bag. With practiced ease, he slips it over his head and across his body.

Looking absolutely ridiculous. He smiles, suddenly looking more relaxed. The smile looks good on him.

Emma shakes the thought from her muddled brain.

“What…” she trails off looking from the bag to the man.

“I would have exited sooner, but I came back to retrieve my bag. I apologize for startling you. I’ll be on my way now unless you require any assistance,” he asks, stopping in front of her, only a few feet away. He pops an eyebrow in question, tongue darting out to dampen his bottom lip.

Emma catches herself watching his mouth and bites her tongue.

“Get out,” she orders, but it lacks any heat. He gives her a slight bow before slowly making his way to the exit. She watches the entire way.

He looks ridiculous, but he manages a swagger nonetheless, how, she doesn’t know. No clothes, an unusual leather bag? Ridiculous. Water still dripping down his back, ridic—

“Good night, love.”

Her eyes snap up at his at his voice, but he is already gone, only his chuckle reaching beyond the swinging door.

“Ridiculous.”

She keeps her eyes trained on the door until it comes to rest. It’s only when a shiver runs through her body that she’s forced into action.

“Clothes. Right.”

**xo**

Visions of Starbucks and a hot Pike Place Roast consume Emma’s thoughts as she staggers down the stairs, lugging her heavy bag with difficulty on each step. Her sleep had been fitful at best, her thoughts preoccupied with late night shower visitors and small towels. It left her tired and just this side of irritable. She’s halfway down when she spots him.

With a camera. From inside the leather satchel.

“You!” Emma exclaims, her voice loud enough to catch his attention and carrying enough ire that he has the decency to look nervous. Her bag drops with a heavy thump and bumps along as she drags it aggressively down the wooden staircase.

He cautiously slides the camera back into his bag. Emma scoffs and his expression slips somewhere between exasperation and amusement, but his eyes quickly light up when he spots the  _ Danger: Heavy _ label her suitcase.

“I should have known you’re  _ that _ type of traveler.”

The distraction momentarily serves its purpose as Emma can’t help but bite at the line he’s thrown her.

“What’s that supposed to be mean?” she asks, taking another step forward until they are toe to toe. She resists the urge to kick him. But only just. Instead, she cranes her neck to look him in the eyes. Really blue eyes she notes, unfortunate that.

Terrible timing too to notice such things.

“Well Princess, shouldn’t you be at some fancy B&B, maybe the Hilton?”

His knee nudges her suitcase, tipping it back towards her. She rights it with a grumble before leaning into his space and pressing a finger to his chest.

“You know what, I don’t care what you think of me, you degenerate. How is it the only thing you happen to have with you in the women’s washroom is a cam…” she launches into her rant but is brought up short at his quiet oath.

“Bloody hell.”

“Excuse me?” Emma asks, trying to calm the rise and fall of her chest.

“Sorry,” he mumbles and looks off to the side. “Can you just, come with me?” He nods to the small living room, not waiting for her response before taking up residence on the couch. He pats the spot beside him with what looks to be a hooked prosthetic when she doesn’t move. She takes another calming breath and finally crosses the room to sit stiffly beside him.

He immediately scoots over, and an explanation about personal space is on the tip of her tongue, but he speaks up before she can.

“I told you the truth last night, I swear to it. Give me a moment, and I’ll prove it to you.”

He doesn’t wait for a response, instead, lifts the satchel onto his lap.

“Who gave you your trust issues?” he mumbles, pulling out his camera and setting it on his knee. She’s grateful he doesn’t notice the color drain from her face. She pulls in a shallow breath through her nose and wishes herself out of the ridiculous situation she finds herself in. "You should work on that, lass. Not every bloke you encounter will be a scoundrel. I for one think we could get on quite well.”

Emma continues to pull in a shallow breaths. She watches his profile as he flicks through the images, a hint of a smile tugging at his lips.  

“Here, look,” he offers, turning the camera in her direction. “You can go through the whole thing. The camera was given to me by someone important, and I don’t like it to be far…” his words trail off when he finally looks up and sees her blanched expression, his smile falters.

She swallows against the lump in her throat. She wants to call him out for invalidating her fears, how had he expected her to react? But he also seems sincere, and under different circumstances, she could have appreciated his blue eyes and the warm press of his thigh against hers, but of course, as with everything she does, she gets in her own way. Better to just leave.

She can see the moment where his eyes change from confused to pity, and she can’t deal with it. Thousands of miles from home, from anyone who knows her, and it’s the same old story unfolding again. Lost little Emma, pushing people away before they can do it to her. Why change now, she thinks, and pushes up from the couch without a word and grabs her bag.

“Hey, hey, I’m sorry, I’m really shit at this interacting with other people thing --” he tries to call after her but she doesn’t stop, not until she’s outside, leaning up against the building, trying to catch her breath.

“Well, fuck me. Alone again, Jones,” his voice carries through the open window, and she looks in to see him standing, facing where she left. His shoulders slump, and she feels herself mimic his pose, her own disappointment following. She continues to watch him as he falls back to the couch. He powers down his camera and slips it into his bag, exchanging it for a scrap of paper. He unfolds it carefully and takes his own shuddering breath.

Emma suddenly feeling like she is intruding on someone else’s moment, looks away.

A thought occurs to her, and she pulls out the most recently purchased postcard, the front decorated with a series of bright and colorful doors. She turns it over and scribbles across the back. 

_ When one door closes, another opens? Or is it a shower curtain? Better luck next time. Naked stranger, 1. Friend, 0. Try again tomorrow, Emma. _

And she vows to drop the postcard in the nearest mailbox.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Hey! Where's the first place you would run off to? Would you follow Emma to Ireland? Somewhere else?


	3. Chapter 3

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank you so much for your continued support. I really can't stress enough what a wonderful experience this is and it's because of you! I loved hearing about all your escape destinations! (Psst, can I come too!?)
> 
> Sending my love & thanks to everyone at the CSBB, shippingtheswan, for the cheering and beta work, imagnifika for the wonderful story art (come see it all on tumblr!) and halobxist & meanderingcaptainswanmusings for everything xo. And please keep supporting all the other CSBB authors and artists. So. Much. Talent. Come join me on tumblr! high-seas-swan xo

“Archie, I’ll never forgive you,” Emma vows, speaking to her GPS. Her hands grip the steering wheel tightly, glancing quickly between the dark, narrow road ahead and the little picture of a car on the GPS screen suctioned to her windshield. In reality, she thinks, the road is barely more than a grassy path. She holds her breath as she slowly rounds another turn, her mirror brushing against the shrubbery on the side. She permits a quick glance to her passenger door and presses the button for her locks. She inches forward into the darkness suspecting she may never again see daylight.

After her poor start to the day, Emma had figured her mood would follow the weather, gloomy and gray but Ireland had decided it had other plans for her. As she had stood on the vast expanse of concrete, staring out at where the Titanic would have loomed over a hundred years earlier, the sun had poked out. The wind had still whipped a chilly breeze through her coat, but with her face tilted up to the rays, she’d been able to soak in some warmth. She had pulled out her phone determined to capture the moment, even if it had been just a selfie. And so as she headed back towards her car, she’d promised herself she would enjoy what Belfast had to offer.

She’d enjoyed it a little too much – not realizing the late hour after finding herself on a bike that fit twelve, blasting pop music, while one driver navigated the group of tourists and locals alike through the streets of Belfast. She’d picked up a postcard along the way and had each member of the group sign the back. She smiled at all the well wishes that had been inscribed. When she finally slid off the bike seat and apologized for not being able to follow the group on their pub crawl, she’d found herself in her car, hours behind schedule, with a quickly setting sun. She hadn’t been too worried; the drive should have been relatively straightforward and short.

_ Should _ being the operative word, because one wrong turn lead to another and now, hours later, Emma finds herself on a deserted road that may very well result in her death.

“American woman, aged twenty-six, found alone in her car. Lost for weeks, no food or water. Her GPS the only sound echoing in the black of night, the wrong direct--,” Emma’s mumbled news bulletin is interrupted by an electronic voice.

“Recalculating.”

She narrows her eyes at the screen.

The voice continues, announcing that after the next turn, her destination will be five hundred meters on the right. Emma says a small prayer and takes the turn. She sees dim lights in the distance, and after few tense beats, finally pulls up to her hostel. She takes a moment in the silence of her car to rest her head against the steering wheel and pulls in a few deep breaths.

Deep in, shaky out. Deep in, steady out.

Trying to ignore the tremble that remains in her hands, Emma goes through the motions of grabbing her suitcase and locking up. The bumpy front walk leads to a rustic wooden door. She opens it slowly and finds herself in a dark reception area. A stream of light filters in from the kitchen illuminating the empty front desk.

“Hello.”

Emma covers her heart and just manages to swallow her surprised hiccup at the softly spoken greeting. She glances down beside her just as a young man unfolds himself from a couch she hadn’t noticed. He leaves a laptop and earphones on his vacated seat and comes around to the reception desk, booting up an ancient computer.

“Hi, I have a reservation for tonight. Sorry I’m so late, I got a little lost,” Emma explains but trails off when she spots a familiar mop of dark hair at the kitchen sink. He’s elbow deep in soapy water, head bobbing to music she can’t quite make out.

Something warm tightens in her chest and she can’t help but feel a little pull towards the man in the other room. It’s silly really, if he turns around and sees her, he’ll probably want to do some running of his own but – with a trip so far filled with places and people she thought she would never see again, here he is; a face she recognizes and a name,  _ Killian _ , that she’s already committed to memory.

But their ridiculous meeting and heated conversation from earlier in the day swims to the front of her mind and she forces her eyes away. It doesn’t stop her from yearning for a redo. Where she could calmly tell him it was her first trip abroad and that she was a little on edge. That most women wouldn’t take too kindly to a surprise in the form of a naked man in the women’s washroom but that maybe they could start over. She could smile and appreciate the way he would try to explain the misunderstanding.

Or she could sneak up the staircase and forget the whole thing. He probably thought she was nuts anyway.

Emma frowns and turns back to the hostel clerk who despite her daydreaming, seems to be waiting patiently for an answer.

“Oh, I’m really sorry. What was that?” Emma asks, hands twisting the strap of her purse.

“Just your name, please,” the clerk repeats with a smirk.

“My… oh! Of course, Emma, um, Emma Swan,” she bumbles through, her voice rising with each stumble. She bites her tongue and orders herself to calm down, but her heart has other priorities as it beats frantically in her chest. She dares a glance towards the kitchen and is held in place by eyes she knows are stupidly blue and dark eyebrows that raise in surprise.

She holds her breath a beat and before she can decide what to do, he gives her a small nod and turns back to the sink. She feels her whole body deflate and the earlier weight of the day back on her shoulders. She drops her eyes and tries to pay attention to the clerk as he informs her of the breakfast hours and check out times. After showing her ID and passing her credit card she dutifully follows the young man towards her room. She’s careful to keep her eyes downcast as they start through the kitchen, not wanting to embarrass herself further.

Her stomach grumbles and she realizes it’s been hours since she’d last eaten, too worried about reaching her destination to think about food. 

“Are there any restaurants within walking distance?” she inquires and almost bumps into the clerk as he stops abruptly. Great, they were having this conversation in the kitchen now. The young man turns and gives her a look that clearly says, are you crazy, all the while feeling another set of eyes on her.

She chances a glance to her side.

_ Yup _ , stupid blue eyes watch the conversation unfold while he dries his hand on a towel.

“No, you would have to drive and most places stop serving at nine, unfortunately.”

Emma knows it had to be at least ten when she pulled into the hostel. She suddenly feels her throat tighten and the hot press of tears behind her eyes. She curses her stupid body. She knows it is just stress from the drive and being tired after a long day but it doesn’t stop the helpless feelings from welling up.

She shuts her eyes and takes a quick breath, praying she can get herself under control, at least until she gets behind closed doors. Then she can have herself a good cry and feel sorry for herself, after that she could try and figure out what was going on with her body and the emotional rollercoaster it’s on. At home she prides herself on always being so even. Emma Swan, quiet and steady. Emma Swan, reliable and cool. Yet, just a few days into her trip and that Emma Swan has gone missing and the new Emma Swan is barely treading water.

But, she musters a smile onto her lips and swallows against the lump.

“Yeah, of course. You said my room is at the top of the stairs? I’ll be fine thanks,” she pushes the words out and hopes the young man takes the hint, leaving her to her escape.

Thankfully the clerk shrugs and appears content to let her find her own way. He retreats back to his couch and computer, leaving her alone.

She tries to make a quick exit, tugging her heavy bag behind but she falters at the base of the staircase when her kitchen mate finally decides to speak up.

“Love, wait. I could fix you something to eat,” he offers and she’s pretty sure that small bit of kindness will cause the dam to break.

One tear slips out.

She doesn’t dare turn around.

“Thanks, but, um, I’ll be fine,” she calls out, voice cracking on the last word. She feels a real urgency now to hide away and takes the first step but is frozen in place as a warm hand closes over hers.

“Let me get that.”

He must take her shocked silence as an agreement because before she can say anything, she’s watching him take the stairs with her suitcase while she stands at the bottom.

“What, no, you don’t have to…” she says when her words finally catch up, but it’s pointless as he steps onto the top landing. She forces herself up the stairs after him.

“What do you have in here, a body? Maybe you’re the one I should be worried about,” he jokes as he finally turns to her with a smile. It falls as soon as he takes in the wet tracks on her face. 

She drops her eyes and curses her tired, erratic emotions, wiping aggressively at her cheeks. She opens her mouth, determined to smooth over the situation with proper thanks and disappear into her room, maybe forever, but he’s already panicking, filling the silence.

“Shit. Apologies, lass. I clearly need to take a moment to think before I speak. Emma, right? I heard the lad say it when you checked in. I meant no ill will. Now, this morning, or even last night when I was clearly out of line. I think being on my own for so long, I’ve become a little rough around the edges.”

Emma opens her mouth to assure him it’s ok but he doesn’t pause.

“It all happened so fast this morning, I don’t quite know how we got so turned around. One moment I’d somehow managed to get you to sit beside me, the next I’d managed to put my foot in my mouth again. I assure you I’m not normally such a wanker.”

He reaches out, hesitates, and then gently brushes a tear from her cheek with the pad of his thumb.

She watches him, eyes wide, as his hand falls back to his side and he shifts nervously. Gone is the bravado from their first two encounters and it makes her next move a little easier. She reaches out with her own hesitant touch, and squeezes his arm.

“Thank you.”

It’s quiet and it isn’t much but it’s sincere. Emma hopes it sounds more like please be patient with me. He must sense it a little because she watches as his body visibly relaxes and something soft flickers across his features. And as much as she had wanted to be left alone, she now wants to come up with something else to say, something to make him stay.

As she struggles to find her words, anything she could say, she quickly realizes she’s left more of who she thinks she is back in Storybrooke. That woman is able to trick the smartest criminals into getting caught, that woman can slip a smile on her face and chat up the locals and tourists alike at Granny’s. Well, that woman is missing and in her place is a stranger, unsteady and unsure.

She forces her eyes up to his and steels herself to say something, anything, but her breath catches as they lock eyes. His seems to search hers a moment before narrowing and giving her a tight nod.

“Do you like hot dogs?” he asks, serious.

Her nervous laugh comes out in a quick burst and her first reaction is to protest once again, a  _ you don’t have to _ on the tip of her tongue, but as he bends to her level, dipping even more so to catch her downcast eyes, she clamps down on her bottom lip.

“Emma,” he whispers and something in her belly tightens with the way her names rolls off his tongue. He waits until she slowly brings her eyes to his. He pops an eyebrow and she relents giving him a small nod.

“One or two?” he asks and his grin is quick as she holds up two fingers. He grabs the digits in is hand and gives them a squeeze. “Good. It’s settled. Drop your stuff off and come meet me outside in the back when you’re ready. Grab a sweater, it’s actually a nice night and there’s a little fire pit, I think we could enjoy that, yeah?” he explains, not letting go over her fingers until she gives him a soft affirmation.

“Ok.”

He sways into her space a moment before giving her a final nod and hurrying down the stairs. She pulls her fingers into a tight fist, holding onto his warmth long after she lets herself into her room, leaning back against the door and catching her breath.

 

**xo**

 

Emma steps into what she imagines is a sunroom during the day and takes a moment to stare out into the darkness. She can make out a few lights beyond the bluff, homes that rest on the edge of the inky blackness of the sea. She imagines herself for a second in one of those homes, the sounds of the ocean breaking through an open window, a hot mug of tea between her hands and the grip of warm hands on her hips but before she can let the reverie take her further, pops and hisses draw her attention to the side. She spots the orange glow of a fire, its flames dancing up towards the sky before noticing the two empty white plastic chairs. Her stomach is still tied in knots but suddenly it feels more like silk edges waiting to be gently pulled loose than the tight, frayed knot she is used to. She pulls the cuffs of her sweater into her hands and with renewed determination, pushes through the side door.

“You’re here.”

She doesn’t startle at his voice this time, instead a smile freely tugs at her lips as she seeks him out. She spots him off to the side, manning a little grill, hot dogs and buns looking ready. He quickly shuts off the gas and plates the food, head tilting towards a chair.

“Grab a seat. Ketchup and mustard?” he asks and she nods, slowly lowering herself to a chair. He adds the fixings to the dogs and hands her the plate before sitting beside her.

“Thank you. I don’t really deserve it after...” she trails off at his narrowed look. Her eyes drop to her plate while a hesitant smile pulls at her lips. So, she tries again. “Thank you.”

“You’re welcome. Now eat up.”

He kicks out his legs and crosses them at the ankles. She watches him another beat before her stomach grumbles and she gives in to her hunger.

While she’s had many good meals in her life, she can’t remember any being better at the moment and the small appreciative moan slips out before she can stop it.

She looks up and he’s watching her, amused eyebrow raised.

“Sorry,” she mumbles behind her hand.

He snorts but waves her off. He reaches behind him and comes back with two bottles of beer. He holds them up.

“Yes, please.”

He holds the bottles in the crook of his arm and easily pops the caps. Once he hands over her bottle, she holds the neck out and waits until he taps it with his. She holds his gaze and takes a deep breath.

“To second meetings.”

He smiles and she feels her heart pick up, he keeps his bottle against hers.

“May it leave you with better memories than the first.”

She rolls her eyes and watches him bring the bottle to his lips but just before she does the same she whispers, “They weren’t all terrible memories, I was quite fond of your little towel.”

She looks away before she can see his reaction but she does hear his cough. She hides her smile behind her sip.

Emma finishes her food and enjoys her beer, picking at the label while the fire before her continues to snap towards the sky. They sit in companionable silence, and with her belly full and the knowledge she isn’t alone, another knot slips loose.

As with most nights she’s experienced so far, there is a small nip to the air but with the wind down and the lick of heat from the fire, she couldn’t be more content. She watches the colors flare before chancing a look at Killian. She finds his eyes on the flames, the yellow-orange glow, dancing across his features. She allows herself a moment to just enjoy looking at him. His strong jaw, rough with stubble and the calm rise and fall of his chest, she finds herself matching it before bringing her eyes back up. After a moment, she sees the corner of his mouth tick up.

Caught.

But for once she doesn’t shy away embarrassed, instead she keeps her eyes on him, owning the blush that rises to her cheeks.

“Getting your fill, love?” he asks, eyes sliding away from the flames and landing warm on hers.

She sniffs a laugh and shrugs.

She enjoys the way his eyes widen in surprise before he gives her a once over of his own.

“You’re not what I...” he trails off and shakes his head seeming to think over his words. Emma decides to wait him out, see what he wants to say but he seems to change the direction of his thoughts.

“What brings you to Ireland? Have you been traveling long?”

It’s not the first time she’s been asked the question but it still takes her a moment to push away the guilt. She pulls her feet up onto the chair and wraps her arms around her legs, resting her head on her knees. She turns to the man beside her and he seems as comfortable as ever and happy to wait as she finds words for her reasons.

“I needed to do something for myself,” she starts and she surprises herself. It’s the closest answer to the truth that’s she’s given so far. “I don’t do that very often,” she whispers but at his slow nod, she knows he’s heard. He still waits.

“It’s only been a few days, so i’m still getting my bearings.”

She takes a deep breath and closes her eyes. When she lets it out slowly and opens them, she finds he is still watching her. She likes it.

“Yourself? You said you’ve been on your own for awhile?”

He averts his eyes and she picks up on the tick in his jaw.

“Aye. I’ve been travelling for quite some time now. Years, to be completely truthful.”

“Wow. You don’t miss home?” her words slip out before she can give them much thought but as soon as they are out there and she can’t take them back, she’s not sure why she’s said them. Considering her own views on home are a little jumbled at the moment.

He hums in response, preparing to say something but he hesitates and it’s enough to let her know that he too can have his secrets. They are both hiding something, stories they aren’t willing to voice yet and Emma realizes that it’s okay. She would much rather enjoy the company than delve into things that hurt.

She speaks up before he can.

“I got lost on my way here. Didn’t think I was ever going to make it, I honestly thought I was lost to the Irish countryside forever,” she admits, propping her chin on her knees, eyes closed, enjoying the warmth.

She hears his quiet chuckle and counts it as a small victory.

“However did you make it out, love?” she turns to face him and debates how much she wants to reveal. He already must think she’s a complete mess, what does she have to lose? And really with the way his eyes are shining at her, if she can make him laugh again she only has something to gain.

“Well, after some fiddling with my GPS, I realized I had it set to no U-turns. Things straightened out once I made that correction.”

He throws his head back and laughs and she rolls her eyes but it’s the effect she was after.

“I perish the thought anything should happen to you. Perhaps you shouldn’t be left alone.”

Her blush returns and this time she stares ahead as her voice slips into the night air.

“Perhaps,” she whispers and her heart races. 

What is she even saying? That she wants to see this complete stranger again?  _ Hey, while you’re at it, besides making me dinner, want to be my chauffeur as well? _

Stupid, Emma. He’s going to excuse himself. He’s going to get far away from her.

“Perhaps,” he agrees quietly.

And she doesn’t dare look at him for fear he would see all her thoughts reflected in her eyes. Instead, she lets the weighted statement hang between them and appreciates the moment. A moment painted in the, what could be, where the possibilities are endless and she’s left to her own imagination.

Where she isn’t alone.

“I know I look like the ultimate traveler,” his words break the silence and she focuses on him, a little shake of her head that he seems to enjoy. “But would you like to hear how I ended up hitchhiking in Copenhagen in my underwear, no longer a pair of pants to my name?” 

Her laughs bubbles out and he grins.

“Absolutely.”

“Well, it all started with this guy named Merlin.” She settles in, putting up her hood and snuggling her hands into her sweatshirt pocket, watching the reflection of the flames dance in Killian’s eyes as he tells his story.

 

**xo**

 

The next morning, the rain falls in sheets, changing patterns with the wind. It pounds against the pavement and rings off the tin roof but Emma takes it all in with a smile. Despite being up late the night before, she’s rested, filled with energy, nerves, and hope. With a last look outside she rests on hope and turns to quickly pack away the last of her things.

It had been well past two in the morning when her yawns had become too frequent to ignore. They’d poured a bucket of water over the fire and had slipped back into the hostel. 

Away from the vastness of the outdoors and the crackle of the fire, silence had enveloped them as they padded down the dark hallway. It had layered the evening in a new intimacy, one that had Emma’s mind racing to catch up to all the different emotions she was feeling.

She hadn’t had time to form expectations for this trip, how could she? One moment she was at Granny’s the next, across an ocean. But even if she had, she certainly could not have expected to meet someone like Killian. The man made her skin flush and heart stutter, and for the first time in a long time, she wished she had an easier time letting people in.  

She could still feel the warmth on her back where he bumped against her as she had paused at the stairs.

“I guess this is me,” her words had come out in a rush just as she had felt his hand grip her hip.

“Apologies.”

She’d glanced over her shoulder and even though she could feel him against her, his nearness surprised her. She felt his breath against her cheek and held her own. In the faint light of the hall she could see his eyes flick to her lips.

Or so she’d thought, it could have been a trick of the light.

“I’m just around the corner,” he’d whispered, “so I guess this is good...” he’d trailed off and she had to hold the banister as she felt his warm hand over her sweatshirt.

“Goodnight?” she whispered, more of a question than a statement.

“Yes, that’s, yes. Goodnight.”

And then his hand was gone but still he had waited. She’d searched for something to say, see you at breakfast? Where are you going tomorrow? They’d steered clear of any forward conversation over their evening. It seemed to be an unspoken understanding between them, but she suddenly, desperately, wanted to know.

She wanted to know if this would be the last she would see of him. 

“Go on, lass. Make sure everything is fine in your room, I’ll wait here until I hear your lock.”

She had almost asked her questions, almost been brave but instead she’d nodded and taken the stairs slowly. She’d unlocked her door and turned. He’d waited, and although she could barely make out his expression, she’d heard him clearly.

“Goodnight.”

She echoed it back.

Goodnight wasn’t goodbye. She’d get her chance in the morning were her last thoughts before she gave away to sleep.

And that is why now, she hurries to pack her things so she can make her way to the kitchen.

It’s a testament to her excitement that her bag doesn’t feel as heavy as she hefts it down the stairs and even more so, that she greets a guest with a cheery hello as she passes them in the hall. She leaves her suitcase against the wall in the sunroom and puts on a brave face before following the murmuring of voices into the kitchen.

The scene is much livelier than the previous night. There are a half a dozen people milling about, a man already doing his dishes while two others chat at the kitchen table. She glances to the woman manning the stove, the sizzling sound of eggs being fried while toast pops up in the corner. Emma glances around, eager to find that now familiar mess of dark brown hair but she comes up empty. She forces the smile to remain on her face as she backs out and checks the chairs they had used the night before, but of course they sit unused, save for the heavy puddles and hard rain. She swallows against the lump in her throat and slowly makes her way in the direction he’d pointed to the night before.

The door sits ajar to the lone room at the end of the hall, she approaches it slowly but deep down she already knows what she’ll find.

He’s gone.

She pushes softly with the tips of her fingers and the door creaks open revealing an empty room, barely an indication someone had been there in the first place, save for the hastily folded blanket on the bottom bunk.

Emma sighs and as the seconds tick by, her embarrassment threatens to swallow her whole. Here she was excited to keep the feeling going from the night before and he – well clearly, he couldn’t leave fast enough.

She doesn’t bother with breakfast. She drops her keys with the clerk and escapes into the rain. She doesn’t hurry, instead she lets the rain dampen her hair and coat as she drags her bag behind her.

Once settled in her car, she allows a last glance to the little hostel by the sea before setting the car in motion.

_ Perhaps sometimes goodnight is goodbye. _

**xo**

 

__Thank so much for reading!_ _

__Tell me, what's your favorite campfire food?_ _

__See you next week for Chapter 4!_ _

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thank so much for reading!
> 
> Tell me, what's your favorite campfire food?
> 
> See you next week for Chapter 4!


	4. Chapter 4

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I continue to be overwhelmed by all the awesome love showed to this little story. You have no idea how much your support brightens my day. Thank you.
> 
> Always, thanks to shippingtheswann for the cheering and beta work (go read her wonderful story!), imagnifika for finding the heart of the story with her art, halobxist & meanderingcaptainswanmusings for everything. And please keep supporting all the other CSBB authors and artists. The content everyone is bringing is truly amazing.  
> Come join me on tumblr! high-seas-swan xo
> 
> And now on wet Irish morning…

The metal door of the mailbox clangs shut, keeping its contents dry.  _ Gray days where the rain seems never ending. Wish I could have said goodbye. Hopefully the sun comes out tomorrow, _ she had written on the back of the postcard, the front a dreary day on the coast, brightened only by the red umbrella in the middle.

She runs back to the car, holding the hood of her raincoat tight around her head, and slides into the driver’s seat. As the car rumbles back to life, she cranks up the radio. The drums to a familiar tune kick into high gear, filling the car with sound, and Michael Stipe sings about the end of the world for the seventh time that morning.

“And I feel fiiiine.”

Emma figures the more times she says it, the closer to the truth she’ll get. Maybe. The song draws to an end and she pauses it as she eases the car around another the corner. She has just enough time to move over to the side as she meets another car. After a deep breath, and easing back into her lane, she brings the song back for another spin.

The wipers beat back and forth, competing with the heavy rain while Emma tries to focus on finding the next turn. She’s just getting into chorus of the song, tapping her thumbs against the steering wheel when she spots a person ahead, walking on the side of the road. At first, the large backpack is all she sees but as she slows and pulls closer, she makes out a green raincoat and –

“Of fucking course.”

She pulls up right beside him, slowing to a crawl, but Killian doesn’t seem to notice, focused on keeping his head down against the rain. She rolls to a stop and watches him take a few more steps before she presses down on the horn.

He startles, and her quiet chuckle is tinged with a small bit of satisfaction. 

He turns towards the sound and she shakes her head at his wide-eyed gaze.

She eases the car forward and rolls down the window.

“Get in.”

He hesitates.

“Is my company that terrible?”

He grips the car door and bends low. The water drips from his hood and down his face, his cheeks are flushed pink from the cool air and it only makes his eyes a brighter blue.

Damn him.

“What?” he asks, raising his voice over the rain and wipers as a look of confusion crosses his face. 

She hesitates, he’s going to make her say it again, not that he realizes what her question was in the first place. His fingers flex against the ledge. After another shallow breath she finds the courage. 

“I said, is my company really that terrible?” 

His eyes widen. 

“What?! Of course not. Why would you say that?” his words tumble out in a rush. She levels him with an incredulous look before glancing away with a shake of her head. She only looks back what she feels his fingers brush her shoulder. 

“You’re sure?” he finally asks and she has to roll her eyes.

“Get in, Killian.”

He bounces his palm, once, twice on the door and finally comes to a decision.

“Can you pop the boot? My pack is pretty wet,” he asks and she quickly complies.

While he stows his things, she drums her fingers on the steering wheel and runs through the possible conversations they could have. She decides on thanking him once again for dinner and will offer to get him to his next destination dry before leaving him alone.

Yes, that’s exactly what she’ll say.

He slides into the front seat, pulling back his hood. He runs his hands through his hair, making it stand on end before turning to her. 

They speak at the same time. “I looked for you this morning.” “I'm quite glad to see you again, love.”

Emma immediately wants to crawl under her seat. He's just happy for the ride. 

Killian gives her a sideways glance before speaking. "I apologize that was quite unacceptable of me, leaving without a - .”

She doesn't need his pity.  She interrupts him, "No. Don't. You don't owe me anything, especially not a goodbye. You fed me. This is the least I can do," she rambles filling the silence, attempting to put the car into drive until she feels a hand over hers on the gear shift. 

"No, love. It was quite bad form,” he pauses and scratches behind his ear and adds on, “again.”

His hand returns, warm over hers as his thumb runs back and forth over her knuckles.

She looks up and his gaze is earnest.

“I was going to wait for you this morning.”

She slides her eyes away but his grip tightens on her hand.

“I was. I stood outside your door this morning but I just,” he trails off and drops his hand to his thighs and rubs it nervously, she watches the movement. “I’m a little broken, Emma, in more ways than one.” He motions to his arm with the prosthetic. 

Her breath catches but she reaches out to hold his arm above the brace. It appears it’s what he needs because his words come out with conviction as he dips his head to catch her gaze.

“But please trust me when I say, I’m absolutely delighted that our paths have crossed once again.” His words are confident but softened by his gentle tone. “To see you again,” he tacks on quietly.

She’s left a little speechless and hopes he doesn’t see her hands shake as she put the car into drive but she pauses before easing her foot off the clutch.

He’s watching her carefully.

“Good,” she finally whispers.

His mouth ticks up and he nods, finally buckling up and facing forward.

“I’m heading to Stranocum, that okay?” she asks when they are finally on the road. She knows it’s a little off the main route but the pictures of the Dark Hedges and their feature in one of her favorite shows was reason enough to go, and, “I don’t know when or if I’ll ever be back. Who knows if I’ll ever travel like this again, so I really just wanted to see everything I possibly could,” she’s rambling and she knows it, but it’s only when his hand closes over hers that her words trail off.

“Sounds wonderful.”

She watches Killian settles further in his seat out of the corner of her eye and finally allows herself a deep breath before focusing on the road ahead.

 

**xo**

 

“I don’t know if you’ll ever come across any sheep blocking your way. I think you’ve watched too many movies, love.”

Emma waves Killian off like he doesn’t know what he’s talking about. He pushes her hand away but chuckles.

After a quiet beginning and some silent wandering around the Dark Hedges, they finally opened up again, finding the cadence of their conversation from the night before. Sometimes teasing, other times curious and but always with an honest pull to know more.

Killian had also been perceptive enough to realize Emma appreciated a little help getting through the multitude of roundabouts.

“We have another coming up, think you can handle this one?” Killian asks before Archie’s digital voice can poorly indicate the next set of directions.

Emma bites her lip, eyes glancing at the GPS.

“At the roundabout take the fourth exit.”

Emma grips the wheel with determination with one hand while the other hovers over the gearshift.

“I’ve got you,” Killian whispers just before the merge comes into sight and he quickly counts off the exits as she takes the circle. She laughs with the victory of making it through another treacherous route as they hit the straightaway.

“I dare say we make quite the team,” Killian declares, settling against the door. She can feel his eyes on her and so she gives a little shrug but she can’t hide her pleased smile.

“Perhaps,” she offers just as she spots a sign. “Dundrum Castle,” she murmurs.

“Shall we go exploring?” he asks, still relaxed against the door, still watching her.

“Well I mean it’s not really on the way, we’d be going west only to come back east,” she offers nervously, slowing the car and chancing a glance to her side. He simply smiles patiently at her. 

She could really get used to that smile. It pulls out one of her own.

“Yeah?” 

“Aye.”

 

**xo**

 

“So, it really is for capturing all these beautiful sights? Not for peeping on women in the bathroom?” Emma asks leaning up against the car beside Killian as he fiddles with his camera.

He throws her the same exasperated look he’d given her at the first hostel but there’s a teasing gleam in his eyes.

“Unless the lady wishes to be photographed,” he says with a salacious tone, eyebrows dancing. He lifts the camera up and snaps a picture of her narrowed gaze. “A very beautiful sight, indeed,” he offers with a wink.

The blush rises high and quick to Emma’s cheeks and she makes a show of dismissing his compliment with a wave of her hand. She stalks off towards the castle grounds hearing the quiet clicks of the shutter behind her. She would be hard pressed to admit it, but a part of her delights in the attention, attention she usually shies away from, always offering to take the pictures, preferring to stay in the background. 

The clicks continue in her wake.

She stops and turns. The wind picks up and she struggles to keep her hair out of her face, her long blonde hair tangling and whipping about with the breeze.

Click.

“Are you sure you’re not a fairy?” Killian asks, lowering the camera. “Here to enchant me?”

If it all possible, she feels her cheeks heat further as she struggles to maintain her frown.

He lifts his camera again. Waits.

“Killian,” she says his name as a warning, looking out towards the sea.

Click.

When she looks back his camera is back at his side.

She studies him. Her eyes focus on the initials on the leather satchel he wears across his chest. She takes a few steps back to him. Her fingers trace the L and J. Her eyes raise in question.

Killian sobers quickly, and Emma can see a whole story unfolding in the moments before he speaks.

“Liam Jones,” he finally reveals. Emma tilts her head in question, not trusting her voice, fearing she knows the answer. Killian looks down at the bag. “My brother. This used to belong to him,” he says, his voice almost lost to the wind.

It’s enough of a revelation for now. Emma’s heart squeezes, and she is certain that this is one of his broken pieces he spoke of. She takes his hand; it’s warm and solid in hers.

“Come on. Let’s explore while the rain holds off. Maybe you can show me how this thing works and then  _ you _ can model for  _ me _ .”

His smile might not reach his eyes, but there’s gratitude in the uptick of his lips and in the way his hand squeezes hers.

“Lead on, fairy Swan,” he whispers, and she does, taking them down the sloping rocky knoll towards the ruins and the quiet storied history they hold.

 

**xo**

 

While Killian is taking a few more pictures of the vista below the reaches of the castle, Emma walks over to a man sitting at a little table near the exit. He has a small collection of pictures and postcards and Emma quickly picks out one of Dundrum on a sunnier day.

Killian joins her just as she’s paying.

“I hope you’ll say nice things about me when you send this off to your friends,” he teases as he leans over to glance at the table.

Emma tucks the postcard away and takes in Killian’s profile.

“Something like that,” she answers while mentally composing the text she will write later.  _ You can still find some rare treasure at Irish castles. Just keep your eyes open; you never know what you might see. _

 

**xo**

 

“I’m sorry, we’re fully booked for tonight.”

Emma stands off to the side watching Killian chat with the owner of the hostel, trying to get a room for himself.

Nothing available. Fully booked. Another goodbye.

“You can stay with me,” Emma blurts out.

_ Oh God. _

Killian slowly turns around just as Emma decides it’s probably best if she hides from the world. Or at least her eyes. She shields her eyes from his gaze with her hand and looks to the floor. There’s a beat and then she sees a pair of sneakered feet before her own.

“Emma.”

She doesn’t move.

A foot taps hers.

She slowly looks up. He’s amused.

“It’s ok. As much as I’d rather stay here, I’m sure something down the road has a place for me. We can still have dinner if you wish, possibly check out the little pub we saw on the way in, it doesn’t have to be goodbye just --”

“I have four beds,” Emma suddenly interrupts him. She doesn’t want him to think she invited him into her  _ bed,  _ just her room.

“Pardon?” Killian asks, confusion evident.

The clerk looks over. Emma grabs Killian’s arm and pulls him close before mumbling quickly.

“I booked a full room. I booked my whole trip that way,” Emma pauses and takes a deep breath. “There’s four beds, plenty of space for you, we don’t even have to be next to each other. We can sleep on opposite sides.” Now she’s rambling, oh god, she’s definitely rambling. Shut up, Emma, just close your mouth and shut up.

Killian raises one of his eyebrows, a bit of a smirk pulling on his lips.

“Don’t give me that look! I know. I’m a ridiculous traveler. I overpack, overreact, don’t plan well, and I clearly don’t follow hostel etiquette. I’m sure I’ve committed a number of other travelling faux pas’ but I was… I was afraid,” Emma’s outburst quiets when he tucks a lock of hair behind her ear.

“Ok.”

Emma’s eyes widen.

“Ok?” she asks.

“Well as long as you don’t mind me being on the opposite side of the room.”

The smirk is back. She rolls her eyes to hide the nervous energy just under her skin.

“I think I can handle it,” she throws off and they stare at each other for a beat.

Emma tries to imagine explaining the situation she’s found herself in to any of her friends at home and comes up blank. Her friends might not even recognize Emma of Bushmills, County Antrim, Northern Ireland. She certainly doesn’t, but she’s coming to realize she just might like this version of herself.

With a shake of her head she focuses on the man before her.

“Should we go grab our things?” she asks but doesn’t wait for his response, heading towards the exit. She commends herself on her composure, but the smile is automatic when she hears the footfalls behind her.

 

**xo**

 

She feels like a kid at her first slumber party. Not that she’s had many.  Or any.

And it’s been a good long while since she’s shared a room with a man, and even then she rarely spent the night. She blinks and allows her eyes to adjust to the darkness. She reads the various names written in pen and marker on the underside of the bunk above her and wonders what their stories are.

Should she add hers and Killian’s? She imagines no one could guess their story.

She hears his even breathing and finds comfort in it. She looks over at him in his bunk across the room and can just make out the slow rise and fall of his chest, his mess of black hair. Yes, for once she is finding comfort in not being alone.

 

**xo**

 

She wakes before her alarm, curled on her side, facing the wall. She’s almost tempted to pull the covers up a little higher and ignore the sounds of morning around her. She hasn’t allowed herself a lazy morning since the trip began, not having the luxury to lie in bed until noon.  _ What’s five more minutes _ , her sleep-addled brain reasons, _ the alarm will go off soon enough anyway _ .

It’s just as she’s slowly dozing off again that the memories of the day before make themselves known.

Killian.

She carefully turns, expecting to see him asleep as well and she nearly smacks her head on the top bunk in her haste to sit up.

His bed is made. His backpack isn’t in sight.

He’s gone.

Again.

Her throat tightens.

She struggles to untangle her legs from her blankets and stumbles out of bed. She doesn’t bother with the fact she’s in her pajamas, her first thought is to check if he’s really gone, if he’s really left her. She rushes to the door, wrenching it open only to find Killian clad in his tiny towel, hand reaching for the doorknob.

“Emma, you’re up.”

“You’re still here.”

He pulls back, confusion painted clear across his face. They stare at each other a moment.

“Hey Killian, hey Emma,” a guest they’d met at the bar the night before walks by, not appearing to care about their attire or lack thereof.

“Calinda?” Emma whispers.

“Calista?” Killian offers back, brow furrowed but then shakes his head. “Never mind, what were you -” he leaves the question hanging. Emma wants to drop her eyes but she gets waylaid along the way by dark chest hair and that damn tiny towel.

“Honestly,” she huffs, shaking her head and gives him a little tug into the room. She closes the door behind them and pushes herself against it, hands behind her back, lest she reach for him again. That doesn’t stop his clean soapy scent from washing over her or the thoughts that accompany it.

“Emma. Why did you say that?” Killian pushes, taking a step forward. Emma sighs and lets out a long breath.

“I thought you’d left,” she finally admits.

He looks hurt.

“Hey, don’t look at me like that.”

“I wouldn’t, --”

“You have,” she interrupts him. She feels small, she feels silly, she – she pushes away from the door to get away from his blue eyes but he reaches out for her with his wrist, careful to keep his hand on the towel. “You wouldn’t be the first, I think there’s just something about me,” she whispers.

Before she can look away, he steps closer, there’s nowhere for her to look but his eyes.

“Emma,” her name is soft on his lips, with a pleading edge.

“I’m sorry. I wouldn’t do that again. I won’t,” he says it with such sincerity she wants to believe him. 

“Okay?” he asks when she doesn’t answer, his eyes bore into hers.

There’s a part of her that simply wants to agree, it would be easy to smile and make light of the whole thing, but she’s worked so hard at protecting herself from this kind of ache. The kind of ache that comes from trusting someone else, only to be hurt again. And it’s especially difficult to think over her thoughts that keep yelling,  _ what are you even doing with this stranger, how could he possibly stick around? Why would he? _

His eyes dance across her face, trying to understand what she is saying with her silence. She notices immediately when his look changes from consideration to concern. His wrist soothes up and down her side, catching the edge of her t-shirt. She wants to commit the feeling to memory.

The okay is on the tip of her tongue, but he speaks up before she can.

“Give me another chance, love. I promise I,-”

She meets his eyes head on at that. A chance means time, and time means –

“Okay,” she interrupts, not needing more promises, deciding to trust, even if just a little.

And the smile that warms across his lips tightens a long buried feeling in her belly.

“I feel like now would be a good time for a hug, but,” he says through a grin, his arm reluctantly dropping from her side to indicate his towel.

Emma snorts.

“Raincheck then. What are you even doing?” she asks as he makes his way to the locker in the corner.

_ Right. _ She hadn’t spotted his stuff because he had put it in the locker.

He carefully tugs his pack out and tosses it onto his bunk.

“Ugh, bloody awful shower configuration on the second floor. My clothes got soaked, so I hung them in the bathroom to dry a bit. I thought I’d sneak in and get more before you woke.” 

She nods and they both look at his pack but as he shifts awkwardly, it pushes Emma into motion.

“Oh. Oh! Right, why don’t I go shower and you can, um, take care of this,” she waves in his general direction and hurries to grab her toiletries and a change of clothes. His chuckles follow her to the door but he speaks up just before she can pull it open.

“When you return, let’s decide where we are off to next?” he asks softly.

Emma’s heart picks up and this time it’s not so difficult to answer.

“Absolutely.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks so much for reading!
> 
> Tell me, what’s song would you put on in the car to cheer you up?
> 
> See you next week for Chapter 5!


	5. Chapter 5

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Forever and ever all the thanks for your comments, kudos and playing along and answering my questions :) You all rock my socks!!
> 
> Always, thanks to shippingtheswann for the cheering and beta work (go read her wonderful story!), imagnifika for finding the heart of the story with her art, look at the latest art for this chapter!!! love it! halobxist & meanderingcaptainswanmusings for everything xo. And please keep supporting all the other CSBB authors and artists. The content everyone is bringing is truly amazing.
> 
> And now to explore some fables and fairies…

“What pamphlet did you find today?” Killian asks as he buckles up.

Today being day four of their unspoken arrangement to travel together rather than travelling alone.

(She’s not counting, not  _ really _ ).

_ Four leaf clover. Four surreal days. Four more? _

She quickly pulls the postcard decorated with a watercolor clover away when she feels Killian leaning over and tucks it away safely. He shakes his head at her antics. 

(Ok, maybe she’s counting a _ little _ .)

“I don’t know what you’re talking about,” she states, blinking innocently at him.

He doesn’t believe her. 

“Swan, the pamphlet, where is it they hiding, out with it!”  

She could continue to pretend like he doesn’t know exactly what he’s talking about, like this hasn’t become a game they do every day, but then she sees the smile tug at his lips and she wants to play.

Even more so because he was quiet this morning. Quiet and pensive  _ and _ there’s also this thing where she caught him running his fingers across a weathered piece of paper. More precisely what looks to be an old Chinese takeout menu with scribbling on the back. She wants to know the story behind it. It’s clearly been folded and unfolded many times over and it never strays far from his person. She’s pretty sure he keeps it right next to his heart on the inside of his coat, but she thinks of her own papers sitting at the bottom of her suitcase and she won’t push. She won’t push but she wants to make sure she isn’t ruining his own plans.

“You’re sure you’re okay with sticking around Bushmills today?”

His hand rubs over his chest, it hovers over his heart.

“Absolutely. It was part of my plan as well. Now come on.”

The shadows leave his eyes when she pulls out a crumpled pamphlet from her pocket and hands it to him.

“Carrick-a-Rede Rope Bridge, first erected in seventeen fifty-five,” he reads. “You sure you’re aren’t afraid of heights?” he teases as he continues to read through the details.

“Please. You’ll be hanging onto me,” Emma counters pulling the car onto the road.

“Mmm, we’ll see.”

“Just set the GPS, Jones.”

 

**xo**

 

“Killian. Honestly, shouldn’t you be holding on?”

“And miss this?”

Emma’s hands tighten on the rope railings as her eyes go to the aquamarine waves crashing below. Razorbill auks and gulls swoop and ride the wind before landing gracefully on the rocky cliffs. Emma focuses on their coming and going as she attempts to move forward, although as she lifts her foot, the wood below her feet bounces, signalling more people joining her on the bridge.

Her knuckles turn white and a laugh bubbles up from her throat. Better to laugh than cry, right?

“So, maybe I’ll just stay here,” Emma calls out and looks to see Killian has made it to solid ground. He’s tucked his camera away and simply holds out his hand.

“You’ve got this, just a few more steps.”

Emma steadies herself and tries to focus on the good things, the pretty color of the water below, the sun’s warmth against her shoulders.

And Killian, smiling encouragingly, hand still out.

She quickens her pace and almost stumbles off the bridge, but Killian is there, wrapping her in a hug. Her fingers tighten in the material of his t-shirt and she takes a moment to bury her nose in the soft cotton. She laughs with the adrenaline still coursing through her.

“You made it,” he whispers into her hair and she lets out a long breath, not ready to let go. She wants another moment to appreciate how solid and warm he feels, how tightly his arms wrap around her.

“Is this my rain check hug?” she asks quietly. His embrace tightens further.

“No, this hug is free of charge.”

She swears she feels his lips brush the top of her head.

“Killian?”   

“Yes, love?”

“Do we have to go back across?”

She feels his rumbling laughter and it prompts her own. She pulls back but doesn’t let go, and to her quiet delight he doesn’t either.

“Unfortunately, we can’t live out the rest of our lives on this little patch of land. I believe the wind can be quite cruel in the winter and as it happens, I didn’t pack my tent,” he explains quite matter of fact and it has her grinning. As if it heard him, the wind chooses that moment to pick up, but Killian captures her loose lock of hair and tucks it behind her ear. “I promise I’ll get you back safely. How’s that?”

She pretends to think about it and he gives her side a squeeze causing a laughing cry to slip out, as she tries to get away from the tickle. He lets her get as far as an arm length, grasping her hand.

“Ok, that’s fair,” she finally agrees but before they can say anymore, another tourist steps up to them.

“You have to let me take your picture,” a woman about Emma’s age says and adds, “This needs more than a selfie. You two look like you belong here.”

She holds up her fingers framing them.

Emma shoots Killian an,  _ I told you we should stay here _ , look. He rolls his eyes but is already pulling his camera from his neck.

“Ashley, what are you telling these poor people?” a man about the same age asks with a sort of loving exasperation - clearly this is not the first time she’s done this - before wrapping his arm around her and pressing a kiss to her temple.

“Sean, they look like they could be Prince and Princess of Carrick-a-Rede or fairies,” Ashley explains as Sean looks skyward. Ashley leans in and pretends to whisper conspiratorially. “Are you fairies?”

Emma’s eyes widen at the whole exchange.

“I apologize for my wife. We visited the Bushmills Distillery this morning, if you know what I mean,” he says, nodding his head towards the woman.

Sean receives an elbow to the ribs and Emma and Killian have to laugh.

“It’s ten in the morning, you lug. This is our first stop of the day. I just love love, you know? And I know you’ll thank me when you get home.” Ashley takes the camera from Killian’s hand and doesn’t seem to notice how they’ve stiffened.

Killian recovers first, pulling Emma to his side, hand resting warm on her hip.

“How did you guess, lass?” Killian asks, playing along as Ashley holds up the camera, Emma quickly glances up at Killian just as Killian looks down. His smile unfurls, slow and soft.

Somewhere, Emma recognizes a picture has been snapped, and she hears a whispered, “Perfect.” Killian keeps the soft smile and Emma can’t look away.

“It’s pretty obvious. Are you on your honeymoon too?”

That is, she couldn’t look away until she heard  _ that _ .

“Honeymoon?” she chokes out. Killian rubs his hand up and down her back, as he reaches for his camera.

“Not quite. Our first trip abroad together,” Killian answers for them and it’s not a lie, per say.

“Well, I can tell you’ll have many more,” Ashley assures them, Sean simply smiling at his wife.

“Shall I take a picture of you both as well?”

Ashley hurries to find her camera and the couple do look happy and in love while Killian snaps a few pictures for them. It has Emma wondering what exactly Ashley saw when she spotted them.

“Have a great trip you guys!” Ashley calls out, bringing Emma out of her wandering thoughts, the pair are already making their way back across when she feels Killian’s arm around her shoulders.

“Well, what do you say my fairy Swan, walk with me along the edge of the ocean?” he asks, amusement clear in his eyes. She shakes her head but falls into step beside him, enjoying being his anything.

There is a brief moment where she knows she shouldn’t put so much of her heart and mind into what she’s feeling. She shouldn’t allow these feelings to deepen but she’s denied herself so much – she pauses to look over at him, the upturn of his lips, his own happiness reflected back and she thinks – maybe she is allowed to be a little selfish.

 

**xo**

 

Emma slouches a little further on her chair and brings her whiskey tumbler to her lap. She absently runs her finger around the edge as she studies the little pub they find themselves in. The walls are lined with pictures of smiling patrons and old band posters. There are multiple drinks on tap and the choices for whiskey could take you into the new year. A duo sits on stage under blue-green spotlights singing of love for Ireland and summer sunsets.

She closes her eyes against the gentle fiddle and voices rising together to think of the last few days. How each has slipped softly into the other with almost a practiced ease, as if they had travelled together for years, not days – a week – she corrects herself, shocked that so much time has already passed.

It’s been going so well, she almost forgot about what awaits her in Storybrooke. Passing thoughts flit through her mind; finding a new job, paying bills, and a knot tightens in her stomach as she thinks of the envelope she cowardly hasn’t touched since arriving in Ireland. It’s never far from her mind and there is something that feels a lot like guilt creeping in, so she hides it further under hastily-folded clothes and decides to worry about other things.

Often in the quiet of the night when she hears Killian’s soft snores or when she inevitably says something that makes him throw his head back and laugh, she is struck with the thought that they will eventually part ways – they have to, don’t they? – and it steals her breath away. She mollifies the feeling by telling herself, not today, today there would be more exploring, more pulling the car over to the side of the road so she can squeeze through a hole in an old fence to explore a long forgotten ruin. And Killian will have more days of watching her from his spot against the side of the car, legs casually crossed at his ankles, pretending to not be interested. That is until she beckons him over. He inevitably unfolds himself from his perch and joins her spinning stories of centuries of past landlords and proprietors, tales weaving fact and myth, Emma hanging on to his every word.

No, she won’t let herself think of parting ways with him, so they don’t talk about it. They keep their silent agreement and continue on their forward journey.

She takes a long sip of her whiskey, and slides her eyes over to the man beside her. Killian soaks in the music with his eyes closed, intertwined hands resting on his stomach, his legs outstretched. He looks completely at peace. He hides it well, but he constantly carries a little strain in his shoulder, a shadow behind his eyes and so she’s happy he’s found this moment to himself. There is still so much she doesn’t know about him and she doesn’t feel like she has the right to ask, not when she is harboring her own secrets. but with every piece he does reveals, she falls for him just a little more.

Emma sits up, eyes flashing open at the sudden thought, worried they aren’t just her own. That somehow he had heard, but Killian remains oblivious, the only movement his thumbs tapping along to the slow beat.

She stares at his profile.

She appreciates him a little more, she corrects her thoughts and casually tries to move her chair closer. Their knees gently bump with her movements.

His eyes slowly slide open, lazy from the whiskey but they roam her face with a warm affection. She stays still under his gaze but finds her leaning forward as his tongue comes out to wet his lips. The corner of his mouth ticks up as he comes to a decision.

“C’mere.” The word is low and rumbles from his chest, and Emma can almost feel it dance across her skin as goosebumps appear across her bare arms. He leans over and grabs the leg of her chair, tugging it against his. He lifts his arm and she comes voluntarily, tucking herself to his side.

Ok, maybe she’s falling for him a lot.

She looks up but his eyes are already closed again. His fingers have found a loose lock of her hair, playing with the end of it.. She lets her shoulders relax and sips  her Connemara whiskey, the sweet clean taste warming her belly as her eyes slip closed. Emma revels in the warmth Killian provides and it’s with ease that she lets herself be swept away by the now familiar strains of the melancholic Irish ballad.

 

**xo**

 

“Do you also like grabbing all these pamphlets?”

Emma, engrossed in the rack displaying all the local attractions, startles, nearly falling backward from her crouched position. A hand reaches out to steady her, and she looks up to find a sheepish smile on the face of a man she’d seen in passing the night before. He and another traveler had come in late on motorcycles, looking exhausted and drenched from the rain. She accepts his proffered hand and stands. He looks to be ready to hit the road again, leather jacket on, helmet dangling from his hand.

“Sorry about that.”

Emma waves him off, with her pamphlets and laughs, holding them up.

“Guilty,” she agrees, and smiles when she sees he’s holding just as many. “We don’t do most of them but they give you a good starting point.” She leans in to see which sights the man has picked, “Oh, definitely check out Dunluce Castle. We did that one yesterday. Are you headed away or towards Belfast?”   

“Towards, I’ll put it on our list,” he says, placing the castle guide at the top before continuing, “I guess you’re heading in the opposite direction, to Derry by the looks of it?”

Emma nods, holding up the different brochures.

“Be sure to check out Guildhall, and if you can find Gerry, he gives the best tours. Tell him August says hi.”

Emma smiles, committing the name to memory.  _ Gerry in Derry _ , she thinks,  _ shouldn’t be too hard. _

The screen door behind them swings open and his friend comes in from the outside, bringing with him a breeze that smells of the sea and wet grass. His helmet is already in place, he lends Emma a smile before dropping a hand to August’s shoulder.

“We’re all set, ready?”

August nods and salutes Emma.

“Safe travels,” she offers and receives a matching sentiment in return. She watches them leave with a warm feeling settling in her chest at the easy interaction. Although it’s just a brief moment and in the end she may not recall what he looked like or when exactly it happened, but the kind traveler will remain a bright piece of the Irish mosaic she will keep in her heart. Thinking of her heart, she is eager to return to her room to see if Killian is ready to start their day.

Emma slips into their room, the recommendation from August on the tip of her tongue but she pulls up short when she spots Killian. He sits on the edge of his bunk, his hair a distressed mess, shoulders hunched in on themselves. He doesn’t notice her enter the room, focused on the weathered piece of paper on his lap. She doesn’t want to intrude and debates returning to the common room but raucous laughter from the hall has Killian’s head snapping up. She tucks the flyers behind her back.

He looks at her but she’s not sure if he sees her. He looks tired. No, she corrects herself, he looks drained. He doesn’t look like the same man that sat with her at the pub the night before. She knows by now the paper he holds must have a deep significance but any question she has dies in her throat when he looks away, as if suddenly realizing he has it out. He folds it up and zips it away in his pack.

“You want to hit the road?” he mumbles as he throws his pack over his shoulder. He doesn’t wait to see her response, glancing around the room to see if he’s forgotten anything. “I’ll be by the car.”

She wants to ask him if he’s okay, if he wants breakfast, but he slips out of the room before she can say anything. She wonders for a moment if she should just ask what that piece of paper means to him but she looks at her own bag, and knowing the secrets that lie within, she supposes it’s not really her place to ask any questions. Although her worry remains. She makes a mental note to grab some fruit from the kitchen before grabbing her own bag and heading to check out.

 

**xo**

 

It’s late morning when they arrive in Londonderry. The steely gray clouds that hang low over the boarding hills match the somber atmosphere in the car. Killian feigned sleep almost as soon as they left the city that morning and had remained silent ever since. She knows by his stiff posture and the continual tick in his jaw that he can’t possibly be sleeping. As much as she would like to know and soothe whatever is bothering him, she lets him have the time he needs, hoping that he eventually decides to talk to her at his own pace. She longs to think they've grown close enough for that.

Emma casts another look his way, and it becomes increasingly difficult to bite her tongue, the pain clear in his hunched shoulders and on his tensed face. If she could only reach across the console and at least lend a hand in comfort, but the way he's clenching his fist, she doesn't think the gesture would be welcome. Instead she concentrates on getting them to their destination safely, navigating a series of increasingly complicated roundabouts in silence.

She breathes a sigh of relief when their hostel comes into sight.

Pulling the car into the first spot she sees, she cuts the engine and lets the quiet wash over them. She watches as pedestrians walk by, one man gesturing wildly with his hands. Her eyes follow him for a beat before moving to the old brick and stone buildings lining the street, storefronts advertising a variety of products: a travel agency, a sandwich shop, Glamorous Nails and Beauty. Emma looks down at her fingers.

All the while, Killian hasn’t said a word.

Emma takes a deep breath, preparing to say -- well, she really doesn’t know what -- but he beats her to it, almost causing her to jump in her seat.

“I guess we drop our bags and head out? Although, it looks like we might get fucking rained on,” Killian mumbles and doesn’t wait for her answer, already out of the car, stretching his back.

She stares after him.

It’s not that he never swears but the inflection on the word speaks volumes. Yet, she recognizes the frame of mind he’s in, she’s been that person so many times in the past, holding things in, letting them bottle up, she’s lucky she’s had friends that knew how to deal with her, and knew the right thing to say.

She feels a sudden longing for Ruby. She hasn’t messaged her in a few days. Ruby would know what to do. She always knows what to do.

A sudden memory of sitting on her friend’s porch, wrapped in a blanket hits her. She’d shown up at her friend’s door unannounced, a ball of nerves, weeks from graduation, a no good ex leaving messages on her phone, and panicking about the future. Ruby hadn’t asked any questions, she’d simply directed them to the porch swing, wrapped her shoulders with a blanket and watched the sunset. Sure, later they had opened the wine and she had called Neal enough names to bring a smile to her face, and her quiet words of encouragement about the future had worked to calm her worries.

Unfortunately, there’s no porch swing and she doesn’t think alcohol is quite the answer at the moment but she can be there for Killian, no questions asked, and so that’s what she’ll try to do.

 

**xo**

 

Well, she tried. A lot of good that did her.

She’d walked quietly beside him through the streets of Londonderry half the time trying to convince herself she was doing the right thing and the other half trying to figure out what she did wrong. Killian in his silence had been content or at least he hadn’t disagreed with meandering around the city and at least there hadn’t been any more  _ fucking  _ outbursts about the weather or otherwise. So she’d continued to let him be, but to be honest, there hadn’t been much of anything. Eventually she had tried to point out a few things that caught her eye but when she’d received non-committal hums in return, she’d stopped altogether. Instead, they gave passing glances at the descriptive plaques marking the historic sites and moved on to the next. Emma eyed a few places they could stop for dinner and committed them to memory.

The closest she came to saying anything was as they’d passed Guildhall. She remembered the suggestion from her fellow traveller and itched to explore. The red sandstone building was impressive, and she got lost admiring the large lancet windows and the beautiful stained glass they contained. She imagine how beautiful they would look with light streaming in. She’d taken a step forward ready to gently suggest they go in, but when she’d turned she spotted him already halfway down the road,head down, hand stuffed deeply in his pocket. She doubted he’d even seen the building.

And now, hours later, back at the hostel, Emma suddenly wishes for the same freedom to keep her mouth shut. She has a feeling she will not be granted the same courtesy, not with the cool way Killian stares at her from across the room.

_ Stupid Emma. _

They’d returned to their room to relax to before dinner and in an attempt to include Killian, she’d told him to grab some of the information she’d printed out about Londonderry.

“It’s in an envelope in my bag.”

The sentence echoes in her brain as she stares right back at Killian. He had an envelope alright but not the right one. She meant from her backpack, not her suitcase. Not the envelope that carried information even she didn’t know yet about her beginnings.

She’d only stepped out of the room for a minute. She half expected still find him sitting on his bed not having moved.

“What is this, Emma?” he asks again.

Her first thought is to lie and her second is to throw the question right back at him. What is the paper you carry around with you all the time? What are you hiding? Why are you so upset today?

She can feel herself getting worked up, so she sits on her bunk and hides her hands under her thighs so he doesn’t see them shaking and shifts on the bed.

She pulls in a deep breath through her nose and decides on a third option, one she isn’t used to taking when backed into a corner. Honesty.  _ Ruby would be so proud _ .

“It’s information on my birth parents,” she offers quietly but pauses, closing her eyes, thinking about how much she wants to say. “Or who might be my birth parents, I guess. I haven’t looked at it yet. They --” her words catch in her throat, this being the first time she’s said anything out loud, this also being the first time she actually might want to look into the envelope. She clears her throat and opens her eyes. She can’t read the expression on Killian’s face but she can’t say he looks understanding. “They gave it to me the day before I, um, left.”

He stands and crosses the room, dropping the envelope beside her. He stares at it another tense moment before focusing on her.

“Left or ran?” he asks.

She tries to not let the hurt show but it’s hard when it feels like he’s knocked the breath completely out of her. And by the way he quickly slides his eyes away, he must know his shot hit its mark.

She searches for the best way to answer but he’s already waving her off, reaching to pull his coat on.

“Actually, never mind. It’s none of my business.”

All she can do is watch him pat down his pockets for his wallet and head towards the door.

_ Doing some running of your own _ , a part of her wants to call out but she bites back the words.

She’s sure he’s just going to leave but to her surprise, he hesitates. His finger scratches at a mark on the doorframe.

“I saw a pub up the block, when we first came in. Something about a rocking chair. I’ll uh, grab a bite to eat there.”

More hesitation. He taps the doorframe twice with the flat of his palm.

“Maybe I’ll see you there later.”

And with that he leaves her, alone with the silence once again. Funny how it’s never been louder.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> What’s the scariest thing you’ve done on holiday?
> 
> See you next week for Chapter 6!


	6. Chapter 6

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I needed some cheering up last week and you all came through. Thank you!! xoxo
> 
> Always, thanks to shippingtheswann for the cheering and beta work (go read her wonderful story!), imagnifika for finding the heart of the story with her art, halobxist & meanderingcaptainswanmusings for everything xo. And please keep supporting all the other CSBB authors and artists. The content everyone is bringing is truly amazing.
> 
> And now to see if some secrets are ready to be revealed.

She’s exhausted.

After Killian left, she simply stared at the door as the minutes ticked by, part of her hoping he would come back, another small part, grateful he didn’t. She needed a moment to be alone and collect her thoughts, a moment to feel sorry for herself.

She curls up on her side but stiffens when she hears the crinkle of paper. She reaches behind her, hand falling on the envelope. She pulls it to her front and her eyes find her name written in meticulous handwriting. Her finger draws across the letters before resting her hand across the whole thing. Somehow it helps settle her breathing. She thinks of the petite woman, maybe taking care when she wrote her name, the hope she may have had. Emma flips on her back and takes the envelope with her, hugging it to her chest. Her thoughts drift to Mary Margaret and David back home, probably thinking of her, and although the guilt of running away is beginning to lie heavy on her mind, knowing someone out there might have her on their mind is… nice.

She closes her eyes and lets her mind wander. She thinks of the things she’s already seen here, places she never imagined she’d see, places she’ll be able to think back on for years with fondness. She thinks of the kindness of the people, and the beauty all around her. She thinks of all the things she’s accomplished that she never would have believed herself capable.

She thinks of Killian’s smile. Not the one he throws her way when she bursts into the room with more places for them to visit, nor the one when she’s animatedly telling him a story. She thinks of the moments when she’s across a room and she finds his eyes on hers, when she’s at the pub getting them a pint and the corner of his mouth ticks up and his eyes soften.

She pauses her thoughts and leans over the bed to reach for her backpack. She pulls out a postcard from the front pocket, it carries a beautiful view of Giant’s Causeway at dusk, not a soul in sight. Quite unlike their time there, milling about with dozens of other tourists, all gearing for a perfect photo op among the thousands of amazing basalt columns. She herself had carefully stepped her way to the other side and then immediately worried she wouldn’t be able to spot Killian among the crowd. But after a moment, there he was, patiently waiting. She could tell the moment he saw her spot him because that same smile slipped onto his face right before he’d settled his camera lens on her as she spread her arms wide.

_Do you remember how you smiled at me that day? Sometimes I think no one has looked at me the way you do. Is that crazy? I hope I haven’t ruined it. I hope I see that look again._

She scrawls the writing quickly across the card and then tucks it away abruptly when she feels her eyes threaten to fill.

She presses the palms of her hands into her eyelids until she sees spots.

She thinks of Ruby.

She sits up and reaches for her phone.

**ES:**   **I miss you.**

She tosses the phone on the bed and gets up, determined to let Killian have some time to himself but also not wanting to lie there on the bed lost in thoughts that threaten to drag her down – I’ll shower , she finally decides except, no sooner does she get her stuff out of her bag does her phone start ringing.

A video call from Ruby.

Emma rolls her eyes but she can’t help the grin that immediately brightens her face, she plops down on her bed and swipes to answer the call.

“What’s wrong?” Ruby asks in lieu of a hello.

Emma raises her brows.

“Hello to you too.”

Ruby leans closer to her camera, trying to get a better look at her friend. Emma patiently waits, eyes blinking. Ruby leans back, arms crossed.

“Well you look okay,” Ruby finally decides, eyes still narrowed but Emma can see the smile forming. “Oh, Ems! You look great. I miss you too.”

With that Emma finally feels some of the tension leave her body. She falls to her side, head on her pillow and takes her phone with her.

“Where are you? What’s new? What have I missed?” Emma asks, looking for a distraction. Ruby knowing her friend well, launches into a detailed description of the last two weeks. Everything from the weather and the latest case she’s working on, to the new restaurant she’d tried the night before.

“So, are you going to tell me what’s wrong now?”

Ruby drops her chin to her hand and waits. Emma closes her eyes and wrestles with what to tell her.

She pops one eye opened and mumbles the next words quickly.

“So, I’ve been travelling with this guy.”

She’s surprised the hostel management doesn’t come barging in at the screech Ruby makes.

“Ok ok, shh, let me explain.”

 

**xo**

 

Emma steps out of the hostel and braces herself against the cool breeze slipping through the narrow lane. She hugs her arms tightly to her chest and scans the street in the fading light for a mailbox. She spots one in the same direction she’s headed, and jogs across the street to reach it. With a sigh, and a last look at the beautiful view she lets the postcard go.

After Ruby had calmed down and listened, she echoed what Emma had been thinking, he’s probably hurting too and we all deserve a chance to explain. And so she had been filled with with renewed determination to find and help Killian with whatever he is going through.

She keeps her head down against the folks heading home from work and those already on their way for Thursday night drinks, clearly eager to start the weekend early. The warm glow of street lamps already coming to life, light the sidewalk. Emma follows their path up winding Waterloo Street. She keeps her pace brisk, but slows when the blue bar front comes into view, sudden nerves bubbling their way to the surface.

What if he doesn’t want her help?

She hesitates.

“Coming in, lass?”

A voice shakes her out of her thoughts and she looks up to see an older man holding the door open for her.

She still doesn’t know the answer to her own question but the friendly smile helps get her through the door.

The pub is warm and welcoming, wood floors and cream colored walls curate the laid back atmosphere, as do the plush leather booths that line the sides. Emma scans the bar first, the wood gleaming from the lamps overhead, a few local patrons sit on stools chatting over drinks. A horse race is playing silently on one of the few flat screens overhead and there is already a quiet hum that accompanies the beginnings of a good night. She takes a few more steps in, smiling at the waiter that slips by with a tray full of empty pints.

“Anywhere you see fit,” he says in passing.

Emma nods and moves further in. It doesn’t take her long to find him, just long enough to find the darkest corner of the bar.

Killian is crumpled in the back of a booth, eyes on the amber liquid he’s swirling around his glass. By the looks of things, it’s clearly not his first and after scanning the bar one last time, it doesn’t look like they serve food, so he doesn’t have anything else in him either.

Emma sighs.

“This seat taken?” she asks softly.

He doesn’t look up but he does nudge the chair out an inch for her. She counts to ten, hands resting on the back of the chair, lest she get upset before figuring out what is really going on. She eyes the long empty side of the booth he’s sitting on and makes a decision. She ignores the chair and slides into the booth beside him. She’s just shrugging out of her jacket when the waiter arrives. She surveys Killian again, who has yet to look up.

“A pint of Smithwicks and two glasses of water, please,” she asks and no sooner are the words out of her mouth does she hear a glass clunk down on the table, a glass that had been half full moments before.

“Another, if you’d be so kind,” Killian mumbles, index finger pointing at his tumbler. The waiter shows no outward reaction, simply nodding and clearing away the empty glass.

_So, it’s going to be that kind of night_ – Emma thinks and decides to get comfortable. She kicks off her shoes, and pulls her legs up onto the bench. She figures she can wait him out a little.

She passively watches as the bar fills with locals and tourists alike, and as Killian fills himself with rum. She keeps to her lone beer and water, nursing them both slowly, hoping that Killian eventually reaches for the water she got for him.

As the evening trickles into night, the sounds around them rise from a hum to a buzz as a band begins to set up in the corner. It’s then that she finally decides to raise her voice.

“Have you eaten?”

His finger pauses in its journey around the edge of his glass and he sniffs but doesn’t answer. She resists the urge to snatch his glass away.

For the moment.

“Fair enough, stupid question. Are you going to tell me what’s going on?”

Instead of answering her question, he finally lifts his head and leans it against the leather backing. His cheeks should be rosy from the drink but he looks ashen in the dim light. His black lashes flutter against the darkened circles beneath his eyes. He rolls his head in her direction and finally his eyes open, glassy but he slowly manages to focus on her. He studies her as he brings the glass to his lips.

“So your family found you and you what? Ran the first chance you got? Do you know how selfish that is?”

This time she snatches his glass away, and with Killian not expecting it, she takes it easily. He drops his eyes and hands to his lap, as if he’s already regretting his words. She holds the glass aloft. It would feel wonderful for a moment to dump it on his lap, it would feel even better to drink the strong rum down herself.

Instead she drops it on the table beside her and slides it out of reach.

Emma is no stranger to this kind of behavior, having perfected the role herself. The difference she’s beginning to guess, is that she has people who care for her enough to stick around. She’s not sure if Killian has anyone, and so she will try to be his person.

Although, not without making a few things clear.

“Hey.”

When he doesn’t move, she reaches out for his hand and pulls it into her lap.

“Killian. You’re throwing a lot of shots my way, maybe cool it a little? I know I look tough, but it hurts. Just, you know, ask me a few questions and give me the chance to answer before deciding you have it all figured out.”

His eyes finally flash to hers and she can already see the regret. He seems to want to pull away even as his fingers tighten on hers. His mouth opens and closes before she sees something she doesn’t understand yet fill his eyes. He closes them against the onslaught of whatever is bothering him and drops his head against the back of the booth.

“I’m sorry,” he finally whispers.

“Thank you,” she whispers back and gives his hand a squeeze before deciding to give in a little. To be the one to reveal a small truth. She looks down at their joined hands and runs her thumb across his knuckles. He may not realize it, and she’s sure he would scoff at the suggestion, but she finds strength in the way he’s holding onto her.

“I did run.”

His head turns abruptly to her, a protest clear in the statement he wears but she waves him off with her free hand.

“I did. I ran. I couldn’t get out of the diner fast enough. If what they represented was true, if they were my parents and their tears were real then everything I’ve believed, all the anger i’ve held onto over the years, was it all for nothing? Should I have been looking for them instead? I didn’t –” Emma pauses, and looks around the bar, at the patrons enjoying their evening, unaware of the heavy conversation happening in their booth. She thinks, at one time, she would have been bitter and jealous and angry. She would have eyed the people in the pub with disdain, these people that didn’t have to live through what she’s lived through. She brings her eyes back to Killian. To his sad eyes that wait on what she’ll say next, to the solid warmth of his hand in hers and to the stories he hasn’t told her yet, just like any number of people here and she doesn’t feel so alone.

“I didn’t know how to deal with it, I don’t know how to, even now. I’ve been alone my whole life, they left me first and that does something to a person, but I’m hoping to come back stronger. I’m not there yet but every day that envelope seems a little less scary and one day soon I’ll open it.”

Saying it out loud, she thinks she might actually believe it.

Her hand shakes as she reaches for the water but for once she embraces it, the nerves, the worries, the truths. She takes a deep pull of the cold water and returns her gaze to the man beside her. There’s dampness in the corner of his eyes and she just wants to pull him into her arms.

“I’m sorry,” he whispers again and this time she’s ready to comfort him but he continues on, “and don’t say it’s okay because it’s not. I’m, –” his voice catches and he stops, squeezing his eyes shut.

“Killian, I understand.”

But he shakes his head, breathing in through his nose.

“You’re everything that’s light and good and I’m just, broken,” he says in a voice that suggests he truly believes what he is saying.

“I’m not. I’m not all that, and you’re not all broken, we’re both pieces and parts in between,” Emma whispers with conviction, moving to entwine her fingers with his and squeezes. “So it’s a good thing we fit together.”

His eyes are red-rimmed when they finally rise to hers but there’s a small look of reverence in them and she hopes he’s really heard what she’s said. She’s ready to tell him as many times as he needs to hear it.

“My brother and I were supposed to take this trip together.”

Her heart trips in her chest, and words for this statement fail her, so she holds on tighter as she lets him work through how much he wants to say.

His eyes blink quickly, warring back his emotions and he ends up focusing on the TV now playing a soccer match.

“Liam came up with the idea. I was itching to join him in the Royal Navy. I wanted real life experience, but he wouldn’t let me drop out of school. He wanted me to get my degree and really, I was almost done. I was just being a prat, tired of the exams and work,” Killian trailed off, his prosthetic pushing a coaster back and forth on the table. “He wanted me to have all the opportunities he didn’t have. So he told me to focus on school and that by the time I was done he would be able to take some significant leave and as a reward, we’d travel somewhere together. After that I could figure out what I wanted to do and he’d support me either way.”

She’s not sure he even notices the few tears that have escaped his eyes. She wants to reach out and wipe them away but she also doesn’t want to break whatever progress they’ve made.

“And what made you choose Ireland?” she quietly asks. There’s a sad lift to his lips.

“Liam had always been enamored with the country, the history and legend, the landscape and the people. I used to tease him that it must have been because of a lass he never told me about. He’d answer back it was his love for Robbie Keane.”

Emma doesn’t mean to let her confusion show but the small smile he sends her way, makes her glad she did.

“Keane is a fantastic football player Liam loved to watch,” Killian explains before bringing his eyes back to his lap. “I think he just held a curiosity for this lovely Emerald Isle and when I suggested it, his smile made the choice easy.”

Killian pushes the coaster away and she watches his expression darken.

“He was really looking forward to being here in Londonderry, but he passed before we could even book the tickets. They said he died valiantly in the line of duty, but I always felt they were hiding the truth. Instead of a proper explanation they threw money and words of praise for his hard work my way. Liam was always careful, always smart, he wouldn’t have ever been anywhere near danger,” his voice rises as he explains but he catches himself when she squeezes his hand.

“We should go. Can we go? I don’t feel so well,” Killian suddenly mumbles, looking for the exit.

Emma quickly slips into her shoes and out of the booth so Killian can slide out. He stands but isn’t steady on his feet and she holds onto his arms until he finds his balance. He slowly pats his pockets for his wallet but Emma takes his hand.

“Do you want to wait for me outside? I think the fresh air will help. I’ll settle our tab and I’ll get you back,” Emma offers, running a hand up and down his arm. His eyes meet hers and he looks lost. “You know what, hold on.”

She quickly scans the pub for their waiter and spots him heading back to the bar. She hurries over and quickly asks for a rough estimate on how much they owe. To the waiter’s credit, he gives her a number quickly. Emma adds a few extra bills to the pile and graciously thanks him before returning to Killian’s side.

“We’re good.”

But he doesn’t move. He’s watching her, a tremor to his hand when he reaches out to draw his fingers over the shell of her ear, tucking the hair behind. She can feel the sadness in his touch, see it in the expression he wears. She cups her hand over his and brings it between them.

“It’s ok. Let’s go.”

He finally nods and lets himself be led from the bar.

 

**xo**

 

The fresh air seems to shake Killian out of the numbness he drank himself into. As soon as he steps outside, he sucks in deep shaky breaths, trying to keep his emotions in check but they get the better of him.

“Fuck,” he mumbles, wiping aggressively at his eyes. Emma steps up to him and rests her hand over his heart, hoping to find the right words but before she knows what is happening, he’s wrapped around her. His face buried in her neck.

She holds onto him tightly.

To most people, they simply look like a couple embracing and if anyone dares to look a little longer, Emma gives them her meanest look, it’s enough to keep them moving along.

“Emma?” he finally whispers his breath hot against her skin.

“Mmm?” she asks.

“I think I’m going to be sick.”

She pulls away to get a look at him and sure enough he looks ghostly white.

“Can you make it back?”

He shakes his head.

She looks around their surroundings and tugs him away from any crowds, and Killian does the rest finding a dark corner and emptying his stomach.

 

**xo**

 

She gets him back to the hostel, but not without a few more stops along the way.

They are quiet as they slip into their room. Killian drops heavy onto his bed, hanging his head between his knees as Emma tries to determine the best course of action. Killian doesn’t seem keen to do much of anything so she heads to his bag. She has a moment of hesitation knowing what happened when she asked him go through her things.

“Killian?” she calls quietly.

“Mmm?”

“Can I open your bag? Get you something clean to put on?”

“Of course. I mean. You don’t have to, you’ve done enough already but of course,” he stumbles through his answer, swaying a little on the bed. A lot of the alcohol may have been unfortunately (or fortunately) left on the streets of Londonderry, but there was still plenty in his system.

Emma pulls out the first clean t-shirt and boxers she can find, along with his toothbrush.

She kneels in front of him.

“Your stuff is here. I’m going to use the bathroom in the hall, you use the one here. Change, brush your teeth, you’ll feel better.”

She waits until he nods before grabbing her own things and heading out to get washed up.

 

**xo**

 

She expects to find him asleep, she wasn’t sure if he was actually going to change but sleep seemed like a sure bet. Except, when she comes back to into the room fifteen minutes later, he’s changed, brace removed but clearly awake.

He’s settled perpendicular on the bed, back against the wall, eyes finding hers as soon as she comes into the room. She lets him watch in silence as she puts her things away and turns down her bed. All she wants to do is ask how he’s feeling, if there’s anything she can do but she also knows, he might just need time now. He might be done with talking.

She looks over her shoulder and he has his legs pulled up, arms around his shins, head back and eyes closed. She notices that his water sits untouched beside him. She sighs and crosses the room.

She sits on the edge of his bed and uncaps the bottle.

“You know it took me years to make it here?” he asks.

So he might not be done talking after all and Emma will accept anything he’s willing to share.

“I think that’s normal,” she says, and when he silently makes room beside him, she doesn’t hesitate to mimic his position.

“I travelled everywhere I could think of instead. I think I was trying to stay ahead of the memories but they were always with me. I never stayed anywhere long, not wanting to get attached to anything,” Killian explains, hand falling between them to pick at the comforter before whispering his next words, “and then I met you.”

Emma sucks in a breath at the statement. Unsure of what he’s trying to say, unsure if she is supposed to say anything at all. This whole evening may be a little blurry to him in the morning if she doesn’t get some water into him and urge him to get some sleep.

When he doesn’t seem like he’s going to say any more she decides to try the water.

“Killian,” she says softly, hand reaching out to squeeze his.

His tired, red rimmed eyes open and before she can pull her hand away he grasps it in his, pulling it to his lips. Pressing a kiss to the palm of her hand. A fresh tear slips free.

“You should really try to sleep,” she whispers and adds, “maybe a little water too?”

He gives her a sad smile but takes the water. After a long pull, he passes the water back and resumes his position against the wall, eyes closed.

“I can’t,” he whispers.

“You can’t what?” Emma asks, capping the bottle and dropping it beside them.

He roughly rubs his hand through his hair, eyes closed tight.

“Hey, hey, Killian,” she stops the movement, hand on his wrist, “what is it?”

“Last night was great, wasn’t it?” he asks instead. She tilts her head, hurrying to catch up to his thoughts. She’s not sure where he’s going but offers him a smile when she thinks about being tucked into his side at the small pub. For those few hours, nothing mattered but the warm press of Killian beside her and the music that had flowed over them like a welcome embrace.

“It was pretty perfect,” she admits, shoulder bumping his. He nods.

“I can’t remember the last time I’d felt so at peace. I didn’t even realize what it was until this morning,” he struggles to find the right words and then fixes her with his most direct gaze of the night. “It’s you. You make me feel so much, Emma. I never thought…” he trails off, again not expanding any further on what exactly he means, if even he knows, but the words trip up her heart anyway. She’s surprised he doesn’t feel her reaction, but she is also so very glad he can’t. Tonight, it can’t be about them, not like this.

“I forgot about Liam for a moment. I forgot the reason why I came here,” Killian whispers and this time Emma’s words come quick and sincere. She doesn’t question if now is the time she should speak up.

“Killian, it’s not about forgetting him. I know deep down, you know that’s not what it was. You’re allowed to enjoy yourself –”

“But he can’t. How is that fair?” Killian interrupts, and he’s not angry, he just looks like he searching for an answer he can live with.

“It’s not fair and I’m sorry for that but you honor his memory by appreciating the little moments. I’m sure that’s what your brother would have wanted.”

“I know,” he mumbles. She doesn’t believe that he does but he pushes on, “And then we came back and I thought I’d just slip into a dreamless sleep but I didn’t. I haven’t had this nightmare in ages but I guess my mind wanted to remind me.”

“Oh, Killian.”

“I can’t sleep, Emma. I can’t dream about not being able to save him again. I don’t want those thoughts to be the ones rolling around in my brain all day.”

He closes his eyes tightly.

“What if I stay here with you?” she asks quietly and watches as his features soften. His blue eyes study her carefully and in his silence she has her answer. “Here, move over,” she gets up and taps his thigh.

She doesn’t lie down, instead she takes up his spot and pulls his pillow onto her lap. She pats it when he looks hesitant.

“You won’t be comfortable and I still don’t think I could sleep.”

“Lie down, just rest your eyes then.”

He continues to eye her wearily but slowly he settles down in the bed, his whole body tense when he first set his head on the pillow. She can see it in the set of his shoulders, feel it radiating off him and she realizes, she’s stiff herself. So she takes a deep breath and lets it out slowly, focusing on letting the tension drain from her body.

Her hand hovers over his head a moment before making the decision, but finally she gently lets her fingers run through his hair. She gives him one pass and when he doesn’t object she starts a repetitive pattern; brushing the hair from his forehead, past his temple. Her finger traces the shell of his ear before she cards her fingers through the longer hair at his neck. When her nails scratch his scalp, she sees goosebumps appear along his arms but his body settles further, his shoulder dropping, a long breath slipping out.

And although his lids are heavy, he still fights sleep, eyes blinking.

“We’ll keep the lamp on and I’m right here. Just try?” she bargains.

“Liam used to leave the light on for me when I was young,” he whispers and she finally sees his dark lashes rest against the top of his cheek. She continues her passes through his hair as he falls silent and even when his breathing evens and she feels his body relax further into her, she never stops her motions. As much for him, as for her.

She closes her eyes and leans her head back, dropping her free hand to his shoulder. She matches the rise and fall of his breath to hers and lets it lull her late into the night.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Mmmm… what can I ask this week… I know! Who do you call when you’re feeling low like Emma?
> 
> See you next week for Chapter 7!


	7. Chapter 7

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I loved reading all your thoughts and reactions to the last chapter. I'm so sorry I've been a little slow at replying but I will be getting them straight away. Your support continues to overwhelm and bring me all the smiles. <3333 Thank you! 
> 
> Check out the amazing chapter art by @imagnifika below!! I love everything she’s done but, I adore how she’s brought the postcards to life and just shows perfectly the progression of these two. Thank you, Kate! xo
> 
> Always, thanks to @shippingtheswann for the cheering and beta work (go read her wonderful story!), @imagnifika for finding the heart of the story with her art, @halobxist & @meanderingcaptainswanmusings for everything xo. And please keep supporting all the other CSBB authors and artists. The content everyone is bringing is truly amazing.
> 
> And now the morning after...

The hostel is quiet and still when Emma jolts awake, nearly falling to the side from her prone position against the wall. She barely manages to hold in her groan as she straightens her neck but she swallows it back when she feels warm breath against her stomach. She holds her whole body still as she looks down to find Killian has moved in the night.

He’s turned in his sleep, curled into her now. He looks younger despite his beard being more unkempt than usual, perhaps it’s the red in it that is coming through or that some color has returned to his cheeks. She feels a measure of relief that he appears to have slept through the night and there’s another feeling, one she won’t name yet that settles over her seeing him seek her out in his sleep.

She also really needs to pee. How inconvenient.

She tries to quickly figure out the logistics of getting out from under him without waking him up.

She has to hope, between the drink and the stressful day, that he’s a heavy sleeper. She gently lifts the pillow and although he shifts, he doesn’t wake. She manages to slide out from under him and gingerly gets to her feet, her whole body protesting the movements.

As she stretches, she mentally goes through her itinerary, trying to come up with a better plan for the day. She would rather not head out on the road right away. She bites her lip watching Killian sleep. She’s hesitant to make a decision without him but after his revelation the night before, part of her thinks he might regret passing Londonderry by.

She glances up as a thin strip of light slips through the curtains, dancing across her bare feet. She silently pads over to the window and peeks outside. The sun is just beginning to rise through the buildings. She watches as a man below wipes down a few tables and chairs, clearing them of the early morning dew. He continues with a practiced ease to set them up for breakfast, just as a delivery truck rumbles to a stop. A woman exits, calling out a greeting Emma can’t hear, but the smile that blooms across the man’s face is answer enough as he meets the woman around back. Together they cart in cellophane wrapped trays holding what looks to be pastries and sugary confections.

On cue, Emma’s stomach grumbles, a clear reminder they never got around to eating dinner the night before.

“Well I know where I’m eating,” she mumbles, giving a quick glance to Killian who continues to lightly snore through it all.

She looks back out the window and to the blue sky. It’s only sparsely marked with clouds, just wisps of a painter’s brush, likely to fade to nothing as the sun rises higher in the sky. A truly beautiful day, it would be a shame to miss it.

Emma gathers her things for the shower, and turns off both their alarms, the decision made.

She just hopes it’s the right one.

 

**xo**

 

Oh God, she hopes it’s the right one. She hopes this is not another of _Emma’s rash decisions_.

“Hey.” Emma mumbles to a guest going into the room beside her. She waits for the door to close before even attempting to open her own.  

Rash decisions. Rash, impulsive, careless – she stops her thought process and shakes her head. This one isn’t careless, as a matter of fact, she has put a lot of thought into this one. She’s even rehearsed exactly what she wants to say to Killian a dozen times before finding herself where she is at the moment. She’s had a full conversation while washing her hair and while she picked up coffee had planned her recourse if he absolutely wanted to leave.

She smiles thinking of the little café across the street.

The gentleman she had seen cleaning the tables earlier had greeted her warmly as soon as she hesitantly walked into the place. His name was Nemo and the café was his. He insisted she take an extra scone for Killian – she maybe had nervously mentioned her friend was under the weather but she wasn’t sure if he’d want one. Nemo had winked and handed her an extra after she paid. “This one's for you. You can decide what you do with the other, but heed my advice, a scone often makes everything a little better.”

Emma shifts one coffee to the crook of her elbow, grips the other in one hand and holds the bag of treats in her teeth while she searches her pockets for the room key. Once she finds it, she hovers over the handle trying to work up the courage to make the last step into the room. Half a dozen times she cancels in her mind all the new plans she’s made.

Might it not be best to let Killian take the lead?

But she can hear Ruby’s voice in the back of her mind, suck it up buttercup, she’d say. So, with resolve, Emma shoves the key into the lock and bursts into the room with a little more gusto than she had planned. She just manages to brace her chin on the coffee in the crook of her elbow before it slips out.

_You got this, Swan_ – she thinks and allows herself a steadying breath.

“Alright there, love?”

Emma eyes shoot up towards the voice.

Killian is sitting up in bed, sheets around his waist, hair sticking up on one side. His eyes seem to still be adjusting to the light of day but there’s a small smile pulling at his lips and Emma feels a small part of her settle.

“Mm, perfect,” she mumbles around the bag, nudging the door closed with her foot. She crosses to the nearest flat surface, and carefully puts down the coffees and bag. She tucks her hands into her back pockets and turns to face Killian.

“Hi,” she adds, rocking back on her heels.

He shakes his head, a small smile peeking out, momentarily looking away but brings his gaze back to her, rubbing a hand through his unruly hair.

“Hi,” he answers, eyes squeezing shut. “My head is fucking pounding.”

She doesn’t mean to let the snort of laughter slip but it does and he narrows his eyes at her.

“Sorry,” she whispers and takes a few steps forward. He’s shaking his head again.

“It’s all my doing. You’re more than permitted to have a laugh at my expense.”

He swings his legs to the floor and attempts to push himself out of bed but his head must protest the movements because he drops his elbows to his knees and cradles his head in his hands.

Emma rushes to grab the pills she had laid out before leaving and joins him on the bed, sitting beside him.

“No, not at all, I didn’t mean, I um, I have pills that might help,” she trails off as his hand closes over hers. He tilts his head to look at her.

“It’s okay, love. Thank you.”

His thumbs rubs back and forth over her pulse point before sliding to take the pills.

“Uh, your water is —”

Emma motions to the head of the bed. He grabs the bottle and knocks back the pills in one smooth motion. She watches his Adam’s apple bob as he swallows and has to divert her eyes. She runs her hands nervously up and down her thighs.

“I have coffee for you, if you feel like your stomach can handle it. I also have a danish. Oh, and a scone. Nemo insisted I take it. Apparently it has healing properties.”

She goes to push off the bed but Killian’s hand slips to her thigh, giving her a little squeeze. She looks down at the long fingers, feels the heat of his hand. She looks over. He’s got his eyebrow raised.

“Nemo?” he asks.

“Oh. There’s a little coffee shop across the street. We should go there, to— later. Anyway, the man who owns the place, that’s Nemo. I think I looked a little frazzled, so he gave me a free scone.”

“You look lovely, as you always do,” Killian says quietly.

That’s absolutely not where Emma thought this conversation was going. She feels her cheeks flush. Actually, this is not at all how she thought this entire morning was going to go. She desperately tries to get her mind back on track but it’s difficult with his sleep rough voice and his warm hand on her thigh.

“Right, I mean, thanks,” she internally groans. What the _hell_ is she doing? She shakes her head and tells herself to count to ten. Once she reaches it, she turns to face him and finds Killian watching her, eyes blue and clear. The weariness of the night before still lingers on the edges but it’s not nearly as staggering as the night before. The Killian she’s grown to know is back and her words get caught in her throat.

“You stayed with me all night.”

It’s not a question but she still doesn’t know how to respond, except if he knows that she stayed all night did he --

“Did you wake up? Did you have—,”

“No nightmares,” he answers without having to hear her question. She feels herself relax again. “Did you sleep?” he asks.

“I’m fine,” Emma answers quickly.

“Emma.”

“Of course I slept.”

It doesn’t look like he believes her so she decides to change the subject and go all in with her plan.

“I was thinking. Well, actually I woke up and looked out the window and the sun was shining and I thought, it’s an absolutely gorgeous day, it would be terrible to spend it in the car.”

She chances a glance his way and he appears to be waiting her out.

“Right. Um, so, I spoke with the owners and we can have this room for another night. I thought maybe you would want to spend another day here and see some of the things we missed yesterday. We can skip the night in Letterkenny and just head straight to Glencolumbkille tomorrow. It’ll be a longer drive but I don’t mind. Unless you do. Then I mean, we can do whatever you want. We can skip all of…” Emma’s words abruptly cut off when Killian’s fingers find her chin and tilt her face towards his.

Before she knows what’s happening his lips are pressed firmly to her forehead. He drops his head but not before she feels the scratch of stubble against her cheek, and the warmth of his lips ghost the corner of her mouth.

“Thank you,” he finally says.

She blinks up at him.

“Thank you for last night, for the coffee, for the extra day. It’s perfect.”

And he’s looking at her like she’s more than she is, like she’s the light and good he mentioned the night before. She doesn’t know how to handle that. He didn’t really mean it anyway, right?

“I’ll let you do what you have to do. There’s some books in the common room I wanted to look at,” she finally says instead of acknowledging his comments, pushing from the bed.

“Emma.”

“Take your time. We don’t have a schedule today,” she adds, grabbing her coffee and heading to the door.

“Emma,” he repeats in that same earnest tone.

She pauses, hand on the handle.

“You’re welcome, Killian.”

She takes a deep breath.

“But it’s not necessary. Anything you need, anything.”

And before he can say anything else, she slips out of the room. She closes the door with a soft click and leans back against it, suddenly desperate to catch her breath.

She has a fleeting thought, a moment where she almost questions what the hell she is doing. What the hell are all these emotions welling up inside her? Emotions that would normally send her into a panic but as she catches her breath, there is something about the way her heart is pounding that doesn’t make her want to run. It makes her happy to be right where she is.

_Huh._ Curiouser and curiouser.

 

**xo**

 

Staying is the right decision after all.

She knows it is as they amble about the town with no real direction, the contrast from the day before remarkable. There is no pressure to rush through it all, there’s an ease to their exploring, and Killian seems to take everything in with a new appreciation. His camera comes out, slowly at first but more confidently as the day goes on, he spends time explaining a lot of what Liam had been drawn to when they had originally planned to come.

She knows it’s the right decision as the shadows slip from his expression and she knows it because he tells her so, when he surprises her with a tight hug and a thank you pressed into her hair.

It’s nearing the end of the day when they sit in companionable silence on a bench by the river Foyle, soaking in the last of the sun. They watch as pleasure crafts drift by and salmon fishermen pull into the warf with the last of their haul.

“I’ve often thought, when I managed to be rational about it, that I wouldn’t have made a good Navy man,” Killian says out of blue, not taking his eyes off the closest wharf. There are a few men securing lines, their laughs carrying across the water.

She turns to take in Killian’s profile, there’s a small breeze and it catches in his hair and she pictures him at the helm of a ship.

“Why’s that? Because I can see you on the water.”

His gaze travels slowly to hers and his mouth ticks up as if he can somehow read her thoughts. She feels the blush heat her face and he must see it too because he reaches out to draw a finger across the apple of her cheek.

He’s been doing that a lot more too, reaching out, touching. Whether it’s a hand on her back, or a squeeze to her arm. She almost convinces herself it’s just the after effects of the night before. She’s simply a steadying presence. But then his eyes linger longer, they drop to her lips and Emma catches herself leaning in a little more, thinking a little more, wanting a little more.

Killian taps the tip of her nose with his index finger and laughs when Emma shifts back, nose scrunched up.

“I didn’t say I wouldn’t like to be on the water. Quite the opposite, I’d love to be able to work on the water. Liam and I, we used to work on small vessels, minor maintenance, swabbing the deck at the end of each day. I didn’t feel I would ever graduate past an ordinary seaman but eventually I came across a captain that appreciated my hard work. That old man entertained my questions, gave me new tasks and eventually taught me a few things about the mechanics of the ship, where he got his own start and allowed me to tinker further with a few things. It’s why I went into marine engineering.”

Killian pauses to look back out at the water.

“So why not a Navy man then?”

He shrugs but there’s more to it, so she waits him out, more than happy to watch the color of the fading sun dance across his features. Eventually, with a wry smile, he speaks.

“I’ve been known to have a hard time following orders. A little headstrong perhaps. Liam was always the more dependable Jones.”

Emma turns on the bench, bringing her legs up to sit cross legged and tilts her head to study him. He glances at her out of the corner of his eye. She can’t quite read his expression but she doesn’t like what he’s not saying, selling himself short.

“I’ve come to depend on you,” she whispers and it has his eyes snapping to hers. “I could have muddled through this trip alone but, I’m really glad I don’t have to.”

Killian opens his mouth to say something but she doesn’t give him a chance.

“And you know, I see a man in front of me that I’m absolutely convinced Liam would be proud of.”

He blinks at her wide-eyed, lost for words, so she simply shrugs, studying him further until an idea pops into her head.

“A pirate then perhaps? Captain of your own boat.”

He throws his head back and laughs, her statement breaking the tension. He shakes his head, eyes dancing across her face.

“Ship, Swan.”

“Ok, Pirate Killian, your own ship.”

“Mmm, you might be onto something,” he agrees and his smile is back. They both turn back to the water, and watch as the sky fades further to yellows and pinks.

“Wait. Give me your best pirate smolder. Can’t be a pirate captain and not have the look down.”

He chuckles softly and for a moment she doesn’t think he is going to do it but then he schools his features and looks away.

“You dare question this Captain’s smolder?” he asks dropping his voice lower, a small air of menace before turning to stare her down.

She had been kidding but –

“Uh,” Emma mumbles her mouth dropping open a little, clearly unprepared. His grin is wide and delighted, and his whole appearance changes morphing once again back into the Killian she –

_She what?_

The Killian she really, really cares about.

“And will you be my wench? Scouring the seas with me?” he asks and laughs at the unimpressed look she gives him. He wraps his arm around her shoulders and pulls her close. “My first mate then?”

She pretends to think about and finally looks up.

She’s closer than she realized, she’s close enough that another inch would bring her lips to his and she has a fleeting thought, would he taste like the sea? Would he taste like home?

She swallows hard and looks down but not without accidentally brushing her nose along his jaw.

“We could negotiate something, co-captains maybe,” she finally whispers.

She can feel his laugh more than she can hear it, so she presses herself closer, happy when his arm slips lower, holding her tighter.

“As you wish, love.”

 

**xo**

 

They don’t have a late night, instead they fill up on fish and chips and turn in early, each retreating to their side of the room, Killian finding a book to read and Emma looking through her guidebook for the coming days.

Emma pulls out the postcard she was using as a placeholder, a similar view of the waterfront they had been watching earlier. Her finger traces across the sailboats dotting the dark water before flipping it over.

 

_Let’s sail away..._

_You said that earlier, taking my hand and leading us towards dinner._

_I didn’t say anything out loud but I hope you know my answer._

_Today, tomorrow, whenever._

_Yes! Yes! Yes!_

 

Emma’s pen stills on the last exclamation mark as Killian’s yawns become to frequent to ignore. She stows the card away and watches as he rubs his eyes, clearly exhausted, but forcing himself to stay awake. He blinks in an attempt to focus on the pages in front of him.

“It’s almost eleven. I guess we should get some sleep if we want to get on the road early tomorrow. We have a longer drive than normal ahead of us.”

She waits for his reaction, even though she’s pretty sure she knows what he’s doing.

He startles and looks up, minor panic in his expression but he hides it quickly.

“Right. Yeah, we probably should.”

She gets up from her bed, as an idea forms. She keeps her back to him, worried she won’t be able to lie without him picking up on it.

“I’m going to go see if I can settle up with the place, let them know we’ll be off early. Why don’t you use the bathroom first.”

She pretends to look through her bag and grabs the first piece of paper she sees. She looks over at Killian who is staring at his bunk, scratching behind is ear.

“Killian?”

“Yeah, yeah. Sure,” he mumbles and she feels a little bad but she also thinks she knows how he’d have reacted if she made her suggestion obvious. She slips out of the room but doesn’t close the door fully. She waits just on the other side, and when she hears the click from the bathroom door, she heads back in.

It’s a quick rush to pull her sleep clothes on and situate herself in his bunk, this time she brings her own pillow and props herself up. She busies herself on her phone and doesn’t look up when he emerges from the bathroom.

She doesn’t think either of them breathe.

“Emma,” he says softly, her name an exhale.

“Mmm?” she hums, just barely glancing up. He’s frozen in the doorway, clutching his t-shirt to his bare chest.

She hadn’t anticipated that. She focuses on her phone but pats the narrow bunk beside her.

He takes a few steps forward and she peeks up. He’s ringing the t-shirt in his grip.

“You don’t have to do this,” he finally says.

She drops her phone to her lap and fixes him with an unimpressed look, although inside, her heart is beating frantically.

“Of course I don’t have to, I want to. Come to bed,” she says, glad her tone doesn’t hint at her nerves.

He shifts from side to side, jaw clenching.

“You won’t be comfortable,” he argues but they both know it’s a half-hearted at best. Emma stares him down a moment before rearranging her pillow beside his. She lays down on her side and makes a show of settling in her spot.

“Oh my god, your bed is sooo much more comfortable than mine. I guess we’ll have to share. It wouldn’t be very gentlemanly of you to impose uncomfortable sleeping arrangements on me.”

She takes his small snort of laughter as a victory. He still waivers a moment but ultimately drops his shirt and brace over his bag and quietly pads over to turn off the light.

“I don’t quite believe your logic really holds up,” he whispers into the dark.

“But?” she prompts, eyes adjusting to the darkness. He crosses the room and carefully sits on the edge of the bunk, looking down at her.

“But I’m too bloody tired to argue and --” his words trail off as he shakes his head and lowers himself to his pillow, pulling his legs onto the bed. He settles on his side, back to her, as stiff as ever.

But Emma, rather than doing the same, chooses not to hesitate, instead she brings the covers up and slides closer. She brings her hand to his hair and resumes her movements of the night before and decides to not let him off the hook so easily.

“And what, Killian?” she whispers, her breath ghosting across his bare shoulders, lips itching to follow the same path but knowing it’s not the right time.

He reaches back, stilling her movements and pulls her arm around him, resting her hand over his heart. And instead of panicking, she lets her body melt into his warmth. How can she panic over something that feels so right?

“And it’s hard to argue against something I so desperately want.”

She freezes over his confession but her heart kicks up into a beautiful mess.

She presses her lips to his shoulder, and whispers her words so close that hopefully, he not only hear them but feels them against his skin as well.

“I’m right here. You’ve got me, I’m not going anywhere. I promise.”

His breath shudders out but his grip tightens on her hand and best of all, he doesn’t argue, finally falling asleep in a matter of minutes.

“I’m yours,” she finds herself whispering into his skin before drifting off herself.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Tell me, Emma and Killian went for fish and chips for comfort food, what’s yours?
> 
> See you next week for Chapter 8!


	8. Chapter 8

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: I’m just a little behind on the comments from the last (two) chapters but I promise I’m on that today. I love reading all of them. Thank you!! Annd! Most of you suggested grilled cheese as comfort food and you are so right. So much so that I had two this past weekend because of your suggestions ;) Your support as ever, continues to overwhelm me and I hope you continue to enjoy the journey these two are on. Thank you!
> 
> Always, thanks to @shippingtheswann for the cheering and beta work (go read her wonderful story!), @imagnifika for finding the heart of the story with her art, @halobxist & @meanderingcaptainswanmusings for everything xo. And please keep supporting all the other CSBB authors and artists. The content everyone is bringing is amazing.
> 
> And now to see if the hills and narrow roads of County Donegal have something special planned for Emma and Killian...

She should have expected it as most people move in their sleep. And she tried to be careful, tried to stay awake, to keep some semblance of distance but she was only human and drifted off for moments here and there. She’s not sure how much uninterrupted sleep she managed, but what she is sure of was every time she would wake, they had moved closer together, and it wasn’t just Killian seeking her out. Her subconscious seemed to know that she too needed the comfort only another person could bring.

And maybe it isn’t just her subconscious, maybe she can sort of, kind of, admit how nice it is to be held. How safe she feels tucked against him, her back to his front, his warm breath puffing against her neck and his arm securely around her waist.

Maybe it’s something close to perfect.

She wants to keep her eyes closed for just a few more minutes, to enjoy whatever this moment is a little longer but as the sounds around them slowly filter into the room, she can’t help but let her thoughts filter in as well. What time is it? What will Killian think if he wakes up wrapped around her?

What is his hand doing?

Her eyes pop open against the bright light of day at the feel of his hand clenching into the fabric of her shirt. She tries to keep her breathing even, but it proves difficult as he tucks himself closer still. Her mind enthusiastically deciding now is the time to run through all the scenarios of what could be. She isn’t only thinking about how well he fits around her or how strong and solid he feels. No, it’s also about how comfortable it is, how natural it feels. But then again, how easy would it be for his hand to slip under the cotton of her shirt, how warm would his skin be against hers? How rough his finger tips? Yet as the warmth pools in her belly, she already feels the goosebumps spreading across her skin and she knows if his hand were to move slowly up to cup her breast he would find her eager and straining for his touch.

A shiver of desire runs through her and she freezes, waiting to see if she’s caught. When he doesn’t move further, she takes a few calming breaths, forcing her mind away from any and all wandering thoughts and hands.

_Get a grip, Emma._

More sounds from outside their room - the beeping from the microwave, people milling about - bring her back to the task at hand. She carefully roots around in the blankets and lets out another slow breath when her fingers close over her phone. She pulls it up and squints to see the time.

“Shit!” she gasps at the late hour.

“Mmm?”

She actually feels the questioned groan roll over her skin more than she hears it. Killian proceeds to bury his nose further into her shoulder and his hand tightens.

What the hell is she going to do?

She can scramble out of bed in a flurry of tangled sheets and limbs. She’ll likely embarrass them both before locking herself in the bathroom to have a mini meltdown.

Probably not the best choice, but an option nonetheless.

She tosses her phone back down and closes her eyes.

She can turn around and have an adult conversation about how they overslept and also maybe mention how she’s sort of freaking out about the whole wrapped around each other thing. And what did they want to do about that?

She almost laughs herself out of bed at that one. She may have found some confidence on the trip but she hasn’t changed that much.

Maybe she can find a balance between the two.

She gives herself another moment to enjoy the warmth, the now gentle back and forth of his fingers against her stomach before opening her mouth.

She barely gets a sound out.

She steals herself determined to form words, when his fingers start moving again, this time finding skin.

“Killian!” she doesn’t completely shout his name but it’s a close thing. His hand stills but doesn’t move away and after a beat she feels him relax once again. The fact that he doesn’t pull away, finally gives her the courage she needs to speak up.

“Sorry,” she whispers, intending to continue but his sleep rough voice pulls her up short.

“Think nothing of it, love.”

“Did you, um, sleep well?” she asks, sticking with a safer question, except it would appear Killian has other plans. His nose traces down the slope of her neck, over her exposed shoulder.

“I’ve no complaints.”

She sniffs out a laugh and just barely suppresses the urge to grant him more access. Not until they talk, right? They need to talk? That’s important, maybe.

His full palm slips under her shirt, warm and solid and -- what’s important? Emma takes a steadying breath, words, she needs to use her words.

“Oh, okay, great. So it looks like we’ve slept past our planned departure time. I guess we should probably get going if we want to do most of our driving during the daylight and see anything.”

“Mmm.”

She’s equal parts amused, exasperated and charmed by this sleep soft and affectionate Killian.

She turns over in his embrace, surprising them both, although Killian recovers quickly, arm staying around her waist, head moving back on the pillow to give her a little more room. Emma is unprepared for the heavy lidded eyes that greet her, for the fringe falling across his forehead and the sleepy smile. But most of all, it’s his tongue that darts out to dampen his lips that pulls her gaze low and causes her to lean in closer.

She draws her hand up, accidentally brushing against his stomach before resting over his heart, nails slipping through the coarse hair.

But before she can decide what she’s going to do, before she can actually be brave, Killian is suddenly up and moving. Emma can barely put together what is happening and yet Killian is already across the room, turned away from her.

“Right, right. You’re right. We should get on the road. I’ll just go take a quick and bracing shower and you can do what you need to do and we can make tracks.”

He’s got his shirt pulled on, and towel already clutched against him.

“Um?”

“Aye?”

She stares at him from across the room and he stares back, color high on his cheeks, hair a disaster, looking good enough to -- hell, good enough to tackle back into bed.

Emma shakes her head.

“Nothing important. Enjoy your shower.”

He looks like he wants to say something more but instead offers her a nod and slips out of the room.

Emma falls back to the bed with a groan but then thinks of something, reaching over the edge. She rummages around her in pack and pulls out a vintage postcard she picked up the day before; a painted image of a young couple in an embrace with a script along the bottom.

They join their lives with hope of bliss and seal the pact with a soulful kiss.

“Not very likely,” Emma grumbles flipping it over.

_Fuuuuuuuuck!_

The single word is the only thing she adds to the message section before stuffing it back in her bag. It helps a little and on deep breathes she pushes out of bed and attempts to get her act together.

 

**xo**

 

She tries to ignore the small tremor in her hands as she takes another winding turn because besides getting on the road hours later than planned, the few minutes of awkward silence at the beginning, and being more sexually frustrated than she’s been in perhaps her entire life, the day has actually been quite wonderful. So what’s a little nervous shaking in the grand scheme of things?

Realizing they were going to be late no matter what they did, they haven’t hurried, choosing instead to meander, enjoying the easy open roads, bright sunshine and a playlist that had them both singing along for most of the afternoon.

And so just because those nice open roads are now a little steeper, a little more challenging to navigate, doesn’t mean she can’t handle it. Right?

Emma squeezes the steering wheel tighter. Just relax, she reminds herself.

Her eyes to scan the horizon instead of the upcoming turns, and for a brief moment she admires the breathtaking view. They’ve entered a part of the country that’s less traveled, untouched by less adventurist tourists. Homesteads are few and far between; miles often pass before they see another. What she does see are long sloping hills and a green patchwork of land. The properties are segmented by impressive stone boundary walls that go on for miles and disappear over the rise. The slopes are dotted with sheep, and as some graze closer to the road, Emma notices a few carry bright splashes of color across their wool, marking their recent purchase.

As the car climbs higher over the mountainous terrain, Emma internally groans at the hairpin turns she spots coming up, sheep quickly forgotten. So much for enjoying the view. The road ahead is a continuous map of switchbacks and Emma swears it narrows further with every new turn.

Where the hell was she going to put her car if another comes along? Perhaps in the field with the sheep and she’d leave it there, refusing to get back in or ever drive again.

A yawn interrupts her thoughts, her broken sleep beginning to catch up to her. She shakes her head, refocusing before taking the next turn with care. Between her growing exhaustion and the wacky ideas they have for roads, her nerves are beginning to fray, no matter how hard she tries to concentrate on the positives. Unfortunately for her, at the moment Killian seems oblivious to her discomfort and she’s loath to say anything. Especially when he finally looks so completely at ease.

He is carrying a lightness that wasn’t there before. It’s an intangible thing, and Emma isn’t sure she could find the right words to describe it if asked, but she knows it’s there. It’s in the casual set of his shoulders, and the way he leans his head back against the seat. It’s the smile that she catches when he thinks she isn’t looking and the deep breath he takes before closing his eyes. She knows they are only a few days removed from the revelations about his brother, and more sadness may come but it’s clear some of the ghosts of his past have been laid to rest in the green fields and meadows of this enchanting countryside.

So no, she doesn’t want to bother him, not for something as silly as narrow roads.

She navigates another complex turn and releases a breath she didn't know she was holding.

A quiet chuckle from Killian takes her eyes off of the winding road and to the man beside her. It’s only for a few seconds but what she sees in those few beats, she may very well keep with her forever. His sunglasses are pushed up into his hair, and the smile lines at the corner of his eyes are apparent as he takes in everything with a look of pure delight. She follows his gaze to a sheep hanging out on the front stoop of a home. She chuckles quietly herself before bringing her eyes back ahead.

Killian must hear because she suddenly feels his hand on her thigh, squeezing. She’s proud she doesn’t jump right out of her seat.

“Did you see that? So cheeky,” he says, nodding his head towards the sheep. She nods but doesn’t dare say anything, unsure she would be able to find her voice.

She chances another glance at him when he doesn’t remove his hand. She’s not sure he even notices but she sure as hell does. So now, not only does she need to contend with the road, she needs to deal with _this_.

His hand. His large warm hand that doesn’t seem to be going anywhere.

And now that she’s thinking about it, her mind generously reminds her of how warm and solid he felt pressed against her that morning, of his nose finding the curve of her neck and of his wandering fingers. The same goosebumps that had spread across her ski earlier, reemerge. She thinks of that moment, wrapped in Killian and rough hostel blankets and what it meant -- to him? To her? For them?

But what does it matter? One look at her face to face and he couldn’t get out of bed fast enough.

She takes a turn a little more aggressively than planned and lets out a small squeak when his hand grips her thigh tighter.

“Hey, is everything okay?”

“Yeah, yeah. Never better.”

The car bumps along as she tries to get a sense of the road again.

It’s not like he’s ever really had an issue with personal space, it’s something she noticed about him from the beginning but still, hasn’t something shifted? Besides his hand with every bump --

Christ. She’s going to run them off the road.

“Emma,” he tries again, his tone gentle yet insistent. She briefly casts a glance and he looks so earnest, so concerned.

She wants the strength to simply say what’s on her mind. She wants to shut off her doubts and embrace her gut. There’s more here than just friendship, isn’t there? Even if she doesn’t know what to do about it.

She looks away but she can still see the blue of his eyes and can still feel the heat of his hand.

Oh how she wants.

So much so that she feels her chest tighten at the thought and her eyes warm with frustrated tears. At him? At herself?

Ugh. Maybe she is just too tired.

She doesn’t have long to contemplate that thought, as she spots another car heading in their direction, not far up ahead. Her eyes widen.

“You got this.”

She bites back a sarcastic remark with the click of her teeth and manages to find a section of the road wide enough to pull to the side and wait for the other car to pass.

They sit in silence as the other car disappears from sight and Emma is weary to break it. She is suddenly feeling more exhausted than ever but if she doesn’t get on the road soon, they are going to lose what little daylight they do have left and then what?

She blows a lock of hair out of her face and reluctantly pulls back out.

She feels Killian’s eyes on her.

“I’m fine,” she mutters and the bastard has the audacity to chuckle.

“Try again, sweetheart.”

She nearly stalls the car. They jerk forward abruptly until she gets the car back in gear.

“Sweetheart? I can’t believe. Who the hell --” she stutters through her words, unable to for a complete sentence.

Oh now he lets go of her thigh, hand and prosthetic held up in surrender.

“Look, there’s a rest stop ahead, pull over,” he suggests, clearly trying to be helpful but the laugh in his voice makes her hands tighten on the steering wheel.

“We don’t have time.”

“Emma.”

“Killian.”

“Please, love,” he asks softly, all traces of humor gone for the moment.

Emma finally relents, easing her foot off the gas and feels the fight leave her.

“These roads are just a little stressful and I’m,” her yawn catches her off-guard and completely ruins her attempt to show him how fine she is. She doesn’t bother looking over to see his reaction, instead, with a sigh, pulls into the rest stop.

With the engine cut, and the stress of the roads removed, Emma allows her eyes to close and pulls in a deep breath.

“I’m sorry, I’ve been selfish pratt. You’ve been looking out for me and I --”

She turns her head against the headrest and takes in his worried face.

“What? No. Stop.”

“Look at your hands, love.”

He motions towards the steering wheel and it’s only then she realizes that’s she’s still gripping the wheel, knuckles white.

She has to laugh.

“It’s just the roads,” she mumbles, easing her hands off.

“Mmm.”

He’s not convinced but she’s grateful he doesn’t try to argue the point. If they can just get back on the road and reach the hostel, a good night sleep will go a long way.

“Alright, out you go.”

When did he get outside?

Emma blinks up at Killian who seemed to suddenly appear at her side, door open, hand extended.

“How-- ” she trails off, her hand reaching out for his of its own volition. He takes it, rubbing his thumb over her knuckles.

“Let’s get you unbuckled first, love.”

He drops her hand and leans into the car, popping the buckle. He pulls back just enough so he can look at her but not so far that she can’t feel his breath puff out against her lips.

“Honestly,” she mumbles, the word tumbling past her lips before she can pull it back in.

He furrows his brow. She rolls her eyes.

“What?”

“We don’t have time for this,” she tries, finally shaking herself out of her daze.

“Get out of the car, Emma.”

“Get out of the car, Emma,” she parrots his words back petulantly.

She’s not sure what she was intending with her behaviour but if it was to annoy him, she fails, because he just looks at her for another beat before barking out a laugh. He pulls out to full height and gives a small tug on her hand he’s recaptured.

“Who knew you could be such a brat. Come on, you’ll feel better, I promise.”

She hesitates out of principal but ultimately lets herself be helped out of the car.

The fresh air immediately begins to settle her nerves, and she takes deep calming breaths, while Killian fiddles with something in the backseat and finally closes the door.

He’s found a blanket and hurries to lay it open against the hood, taking up a spot against it, hand outstretched.

She bites her lip.

“C’mere. Please.”

The warning bells are going off in her mind. Danger, danger, Emma Swan.

He looks too good, too at ease, too much like all he wants is her right beside him.

Too good to be true.

His smile is still patient, eyes watching her like he knows everything she’s thinking but he can’t possibly know all that’s going on in her mind.

She takes a step.

His smile grows. Damn him.

Another two steps and she’s in front him.

“See, was that so hard?”

“Mmm,” she allows herself her own, unconvinced sound.

It doesn’t deter him. He reaches out and turns her pulling her between his legs, her back to his chest. She freezes at the all too familiar feeling.

“Hey, hey, what’s this?” he asks, immediately feeling her tense up, lips at her ear.

She pulls herself away, putting some distance between them.

“No! You can’t do that,” she says holding up her hands when he tries to take a step forward.

“Do what?”

He does look genuinely confused now.

“Touch me like that and then, and then pull away like I’m the last thing you want to be close to.”

His mouth opens and closes without words before his head tilts to study her. He takes another step but she backs away.

“Hey!”

She cries out, surprising him, and she has to cover her mouth to hide the laugh that wants to bubble out at his surprised jump.

She draws a line in the dirt with the toe of her shoe.

“You can’t cross this line.”

“You’re being ridiculous.”

“Yeah well, you’re driving me crazy.”

He crosses his arms over his chest and advances to her line but doesn’t cross it.

“How so?”

She mimics his pose but looks away, chewing on her lip again. Wanting to say the words. Wanting to fully express how much she wants him, how she’s craving his touch, but…

But she can’t.

“Love. What did you mean? That I didn’t want to be close to you? That couldn’t be further from the truth.”

She scoffs and he crosses the line, his shoes brush hers.

“Killian,” she protests but doesn’t move away. She doesn’t actually want to.

He cups her face and urges her eyes up.

“Tell me.”

She searches his face.

_Tell him._

“I want more,” she blurts out and when his eyes widen, she closes hers.

“Emma.”

He tries to interrupt her but if she stops now she’ll never get it all out, so she plows through.

“I mean, I want you.”

If she’d only open her eyes. She would see the tender expression on his face as he watches her with an adoring gaze but unfortunately she just feels his thumb trace back and forth over the apple of her cheek.

“And I thought, maybe you wanted the same thing. Maybe you wanted me --”

“Love --”

“But this morning you couldn’t get away from me fast enough and I mean that’s fine. You don’t owe me anything and I don’t want to make you uncomfortable but you can’t keep touching me. You can’t do that and expect me not to feel something. It’s not fair. And honestly, I think i’m going to run us off the road if you keep putting your hand on me.”

She feels his laugh and wants to pull away but his wrist anchors her against him, as his hand stays at her jaw.

“No, no, wait. I’m sorry. I’m really mucking this up. It’s just you have it all wrong.”

For once she stays completely quiet.

“Emma I need you to open your eyes. I want you looking at me.”

She wars with the decision but ultimately brings her eyes back up to his. She sees the tender smile now, the blush that stains his cheeks and extends to the tips of his ears. She sees a bit of hope reflected back at her.

“There she is,” he whispers, the soft words calming her further. “I want you to listen carefully to my story, are you listening?’

His brows raise and while he waits for her answer, he tucks a lock of hair behind her ear before resting his hand against the curve of her neck.

She takes another deep breath and finally nods.

“Good,” he whispers, his mouth ticking up. “Believe it or not, when I started this trip I was an absolute wreck. I like to think I’m a seasoned traveler but as you now know, the reasons for this voyage were different. And although I had been going through the motions, taking photographs, trying to visit all the places Liam and I had outlined, it was unmemorable, colorless. That is, until I was nearly attacked late one night, by a breathtaking woman in a towel.”

Her laugh hiccups out of her and she doesn’t protest when he pulls her a little closer, instead she fists her hands into his shirt at his sides, holding tight and waits.

“Good, you recognize this story. So here’s this woman, ready to read me the riot act and all I can see is the flash of green of her eyes and the pink high on her cheeks. I’m surprised I heard anything you’d said.

His thumb continues to brush along her cheek, which she can feel heating up again.

“I’m not sure if your blush was from the heat of the shower, my wonderful physique or…” he trails off.

“Probably the whiskey,” Emma supplies, teasing, and Killian nods.

“Right, probably the whiskey.”

And as if he can’t help himself, he pauses to press a kiss to her cheek, lips lingering before trailing to her ear.

“I thought of those green eyes a lot that first night. I wanted to know your story, I wanted to apologize, I wanted to see you over breakfast, I -- how did you put it?” he asks pulling back. Emma stares at him with wide eyes. “I just wanted.”

He shakes his head, rolling his eyes at the memory, “but we both know how that went and how it continued to go a few times after that first meeting. I can be a real prat, love, though it's never in my intentions to be. I’m out of practice, I’ve closed myself off from people for too long but I wanted it to be different with you. I want it to be different. And for some reason you’ve stuck around time and again, picked me up and showed me this beautiful country in a way I never thought I could see it.”

“Killian--”

“No, darling, still my story. You see the thing is, I’ve wanted more too but I don’t think I deserve it. So I try to keep myself in check but sometimes I can’t help but dare to hope. I’m a selfish man, and when I can hold you, I find I don’t want to let go. I don’t know how to.”

She grips his shirt tighter, pressing herself against him.

“How could you think that?” she asks quietly.

He shrugs.

“You deserve it all,” she adds.

His eyes come back to hers, blue and almost believing.

But there’s still one thing.

“But this morning?” she asks and his eyes darken, falling to her lips. He starts to walk her back to the car, and she follows, step for step until she feels the cool metal against her back. She sucks in a breath.

“Do you know how many cold showers I’ve taken since I’ve met you?”

She’s too distracted by the heat of his body against her, by the press of her breasts against his chest with every shallow breath she takes to really think about what he’s saying. She silently shakes her head.

“But--” she trails off as his head dips to her neck, lips trailing along her pulse point to the shell of her ear.

“That was just when I was sleeping across the room from you but this morning with you warm and pliant and wearing those absolutely tiny shorts you insist on wearing to bed --”

“They’re just boxers!” she protests but swallows any further comment when his teeth nip at her lobe and it’s practically a growl when he does speak.

“They’re indecent, Swan, and part of the reason why it feels like I’ve been hard for weeks. And pardon me but you needn’t feel my erection pressing into you like some teenage fool this morning.”

Emma shivers at the rough words, enjoying how they dance across her skin before it actually dawns on her.

“Oh. Oooh.”

He chuckles, bringing his hand back up to cup her face, his eyes steady and clear on hers.

“Oh,” he echoes back.

Emma cants her hips up and watches with delight as his eyes close, her name a whispered groan on his lips.

“So… what are we going to do about it?”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Are you a late sleeper? Or an earlier riser?
> 
> Hope to see you back next week for chapter 9! :)


	9. Chapter 9

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Your support has been wonderful, thank you to the moon and back. And for answering all my silly questions. I've loved hearing from all of you :)))
> 
> Please go check out @imagnifika‘s art for this chapter!!! (and all of it). It’s beyond perfect.
> 
> Always, thanks to @shippingtheswann for the cheering and beta work (go read her wonderful story!), @imagnifika for finding the heart of the story with her art, @halobxist & @meanderingcaptainswanmusings for everything xo. And please keep supporting all the other CSBB authors and artists. The content everyone is bringing is truly amazing.
> 
> And now the answer to Emma’s question :)

 

“So... what are we going to do about it?”

Her words stall in her throat as his eyes flash up to hers. His look leaves no question, neither does the tick in his jaw, nor his fingers that tighten against her hip.

And yet he doesn’t move.

Her whole body balances on the thin edge of her desire, breath coming quickly, flush spreading across her skin and the impatience of being so close to what she wants and yet--

“Would you just --” her words are silenced by his lips capturing to hers, warm and insistent. It’s everything and more that she’s been yearning for and suddenly there’s nothing else but this moment and the taste and feel of him. She rises to the tips of her toes, only wanting to get closer, to hold him tighter. With a step, his hips trap her against the car.

He swallows her gasp, tongue tangling with hers, wet and eager and all she can think of is more, more, more.

His hand drifts down from her hip to grip her thigh and she easily follows his guidance, a small hop and her legs wrap around his hips. He pulls back from her lips with a groan, eyes opening slowly, fixing her with a blue gaze that tightens the need coiling low in her belly.

She bites her lip and he groans again, head dipping to taste the skin along her jaw.

And it feels good, so good -- but she only just got her first taste, “Please,” she whispers against his ear, his rough stubble rubbing her cheek. She slips her fingers into his hair and gives an impatient tug.

He tilts his head back up, eyes dark.

“Aye,” he whispers back, letting her guide his mouth back to hers.

She tightens her thighs against him, not ready for any of this to end, not when she finally just got it, and all she can think of is how this would feel without the jeans and the cotton and -- what if they started with just one layer?

She almost doesn’t care that they are at a rest stop on the side of the road, almost, but before her thoughts can wander further down that path, they are suddenly reminded of exactly where they are by the blaring of a horn, and the yips and yells from a car driving by.

They pull apart and a deep chuckle slips past Killian’s lips as his eyes find hers. She’d be embarrassed at her breathlessness if she couldn’t feel his quick intake matching hers. She blinks at him, a little disoriented but her mouth ticks up on its own to match his grin.

“I guess we should um... “ he trails off, loosening his hold, allowing her to slip back to her feet but not giving her any space, he stays pressed against her, thighs to chest.

“Probably a good idea.”

She feels her face heat further, suddenly shy, not quite sure why, but fortunately, he doesn’t let her dwell on it.

“Hey. Come back,” he whispers, sensing her drifting thoughts and tilts her chin up. He waits until her eyes meet his before leaning in. He kisses her slowly, thoroughly and with enough heat that she feels it down to her toes. She anchors herself in his belt loops, her legs feeling a little unsteady.

When he finally does start to pull away again, it’s with lingering brushes to her lips and more whispered words.

“Ok?” and, “here with me now?”

She hums a reply, feeling more confident, but he’s not satisfied, his eyebrows raising as he waits, thumb brushing against her swollen lips. She can’t help but press a soft kiss to the pad of his thumb. The smile he gives her is one she’ll never forget.  

“Yes, I’m here. Thank you.”

He tucks a lock of hair behind her ear before reaching down to find her hand.

“Good. I’m glad we’ve established that. But, I want to try this one last time before we get back on the road.”

She follows him without protest, her heart and mind finally at ease. She concentrates on the feel of his warm hand on hers and the breeze teasing her bare arms. He pulls them back to the front of the car and settles against it, guiding her once again between his splayed legs. She catches herself against his chest, hands over the steady beat of his heart.

“Close your eyes,” he urges, but instead she looks up at him with wide eyes. He chuckles his fingers running a path up and down her back. “I think the look you have right now is the opposite of close your eyes.”

“Ha, ha.”

But at his raised brow, she finally acquiesces, eyes fluttering shut.

“Okay, keep them closed, and just–”

Killian pauses and turns her in his arms, pulling her back against him. He rests his chin against her shoulder as his arms come around her middle.

As if this is going to help her relax.

“Okay, take a deep breath.”

She snorts.

“What is this, opposite day?” he asks, his lips near her ear. She shivers when she feels his nose trace the shell of her ear before he speaks again. “Deep breath, Emma. Like me.”

He exaggerates his breath and she can feel his chest rise. She matches it and lets it out slowly just as he does.

“That’s it, love.”

Something about the praise causes goosebumps to spread across her skin and she finds herself intent to hear it again. She continues to follow his deep breaths, continues to melt further into him as he whispers against her ear.

“See you’re fine. Perfect, really. No stress, just breathe.”

Her heart picks up at his words but the lingering nerves and worries gently slip away with the wind until she’s left feeling -- happy.

Her eyes pop open at the realization but Killian tuts “No, no. Keeping going and listen closely, can you hear it?”

“But --” she tries but her protest cuts suddenly when his teeth give a small tug to her earlobe. Instead she whimpers and just manages to choke out her next words, “hear what?”

“The sea,” he says quietly, exaggerating his deep breath again and after another slow in and out, she refocuses. It takes her a moment and she has to strain her ears but very faintly, in the distance she hears it, the unmistakable sounds of waves cresting and crashing in the distance.

And if saying hello, the breeze picks up and carries with it the briny smell of sea.

“Oh!”

She feels his chuckle more than she hears it and she finally settles in to listen and feel and to just be.

 

**xo**

 

She’s not sure how long they stay but eventually, her eyes open again. She’s unclear if it’s from a passing car or the regrettable knowledge that they do eventually need to get back on the road but when she does, Emma sucks in a surprised breath at the beautiful vista below, honestly really seeing it for the first time. She blinks in awe. The green is brighter, the sky is splashed with pinks and purples as the sun begins to disappear and the road they’ve already travelled winds down the mountain like a stream. Her eyes follow the turns as the road curls back and forth, flowing fluidly into the valley.

“I’m so glad I’m here, right now, with you, I can’t imagine being anywhere else,” Emma whispers, the words slip from her mouth unexpected but completely honest, they wrap around her heart just as his arms tighten around her.

“Nor I,” Killian answers, his voice suddenly rough.

Emma turns and takes him in, blue eyes dark and considering. She wonder what he sees when he looks at her. If he can see all her emotions reflected back.

“I really like watching sunsets with you,” she adds softly, not wanting to break their quiet bubble. He looks like he wants to respond, that the words are right there but before he does, before she can ask what, he kisses her breathless. He kisses her so that when he pulls back she still feels him on her lips.

“So let’s chase as many as we can.”

Her eyes widen.

“That could take awhile.”

(It could take forever.)

Killian shrugs and suddenly anything seems possible.

“I’ve got time all the time in the world.”

She couldn’t hide her smile if she tried.

“Good.”

 

**xo**

 

They stay long enough to watch the sun disappear and dusk fall over the valley and with that, Emma sighs. She knows they need to get back in the car but she can’t bring herself to lift her head from his shoulder and make her way back to the driver’s seat, not with the disappearing light and the road left to travel.

“Hey, let me drive. I promise to get us there safely,” Killian suddenly offers, reading her mind and Emma is so grateful, she can barely find it in herself to protest.

“Are you sure? You don’t --”

He nudges her with his hip and then turns her towards the passenger side.

“I should have offered sooner, let me make amends.”

He’s already making his way to the door and looking at the comfortable passenger seat, she definitely doesn’t have the strength to protest.

“We didn’t take a picture,” she notes as she buckles herself in, looking out.

“Do you think you’ll forget this any time soon?” Killian asks after adjusting the seat and mirror.

Emma kicks off her shoes and pulls her legs up to her chest, turning to face him, her cheek resting against the seat. She watches him quietly, cataloguing every feature, committing to memory every last detail. She frames him with her fingers and pretends to take a picture, the soft smile she wears mirrored back at her.

They pull onto the road and already her eyes feel heavy. She closes them for just a moment.

“No. I don’t think I could ever forget this,” she mumbles and forces her eyes open again.

Killian leans across the console and gives her thigh a last squeeze.

“Sleep, love. Archie and I will get us to where we need to be just fine.”

And with the echo of, “Sleep love,” rolling around in her head, she falls into a dreamless sleep.

 

**xo**

 

“Emma.”

She hears her name somewhere far off and she wants to ignore it. She’s warm and comfortable.

“Mmm, no,” she mumbles and curls further into herself, tugging whatever is draped over her, up to her chin.

“Darling, I need you to wake up.”

She feels something soft against her cheek and leans into it, waking gently. Her eyes slowly blink open, trying to adjust to the darkness. It takes her a moment to realize night has completely fallen. As she slowly gets her bearings she finds Killian is grinning at her and she can’t help but match his smile even though she doesn’t know what they are smiling about it.

“What? Are we at the hostel?” she asks, her voice a little hoarse from sleep. His eyes darken and fall to her lips, but the hand that cups her cheek remains gentle, thumb running back and forth. Her belly swoops.

“No, not yet but I didn’t think you would want to miss this. Look.”

She glances around enough to realize they are idling in the middle of a small country road, and she follows his finger to where he points.

“What? Oh! Sheep! I told you!”

She smacks his arm, immediately perking up as she spots three sheep, relaxing right in the middle of the road, blocking the way.

“You did, Swan. I’ll never doubt you again.” There is a pause as he takes in her smile. “You want to get out, don’t you?”

Emma chews on her bottom lip looking outside before carefully unbuckling herself.

“Just for a picture? Just one?”

They take a few.

 

**xo**

 

Once they manage to entice the sheep off the road, it’s not long until the reach their hostel, an old brick building tucked between a coffee shop and tattoo parlour. The sign for the hostel is faded and hangs precariously near the front door, but the warm light coming from the old sash windows is a welcome sight.

That is until she notes the stairs.

Emma eyes the narrow steps leading to the main door wearily. Even with the nap in the car, she’s still feeling the weight of the last few days catching up to her and the idea of dragging her huge dumb suitcase up the stairs is less than appealing.

“Give it here, Swan.”

She looks away from the stairs to Killian’s outstretched hand, his backpack already secured on his back.

“No.”

He takes a step forward and she takes a step in front of her bag.

“I feel like we’ve done this before,” Killian comments, all smiles to her frown. He takes another step and she almost trips over her bag, but he’s there to steady her, hand at her waist.

“I’m the idiot with the big bag, it shouldn’t be your punishment,” Emma grumbles, eyes focused on the ground.

“Perhaps you’re being a smidge dramatic, love. 

Her eyes flash up, a retort on the tip of her tongue but the hard press of his lips silences her momentarily. 

“You know--” she mumbles against his lips, “you can’t--” he nips at her bottom lip and her words trail off. Killian takes the opportunity to reach for her bag and before she can react he’s already up two steps.

“What was that?” he asks.

Emma shakes her head, slowly following.

“Killian,” she warns and he stops, turning.

“Emma, it’s no punishment to help you and you’re not an idiot. Let me take care of you for once. Liam would have had my hide if he knew I wasn’t being a consummate gentleman. As a matter of fact he’s probably up there right now, watching, shaking his head in disappointment.”

_Oh._

She stares after him, not sure he even realizes how easily he’s begun to drop his brother into conversation. He gives her a patient smile, one that shows more in his eyes than the small upturn of his lips. The combination of it all, his words, his help, the change she sees in him, it’s left her speechless.

She can feel her eyes warm and dammit -- she doesn’t want to cry. She’s not sad, she’s just overwhelmed by the-- her breath catches, by the affection she feels for this man.

She blinks quickly, trying to tuck away the emotions that are likely written across her face and slowly joins him on the step.  

“Emma?” he questions but she shakes her head and frames his face with her hands. She takes a moment to brush her thumb across the scar on his cheek, to feel the stubble against her palm and the heat of him against her. She looks up and loses herself a little in the blue of his eyes and how they narrow in concern. It only serves to grow that overwhelming feeling.

(But a good overwhelming -- she thinks.)

She can tell he wants to say more, his lips parting to do just that but she doesn’t give him the chance, surprising him with her own kiss, nose slowly brushing his, lips soft and lingering.

She drops back to her feet when she feels something inside her settle.

(Maybe not so overwhelming after all.)

And maybe not something she’s ready to say out loud.

(Because that would be crazy. But -- )

But maybe they are words she’s ready to write on a postcard.

She watches him stand very still, dark lashes against his cheeks, before slowly blinking open. She drops her hand to his chest and enjoys the quick staccato beat of his heart.

“Thank you.”

“You don’t --” he tries to protest but she shakes her head.

“Actually, I think Liam would be proud of you. I just hope he approves of _me_.”

She gives the bottom of his shirt a little tug and he sways into her space. No words are spoken but his eyes tell their own story, as does the thud from the suitcase dropped at their feet, his hand now free to squeeze the words he can’t say into her skin.

He swallows hard and she gives him a timid smile but not wanting him to say anything in response, she hurries before he can.

“Let’s go see what kind of beds are left for us.”

He seems to weigh her statement, taking her in but finally gives her a small nod and follows her inside with the bags.

 

**xo**

 

The hostel is dark and quiet when the door clicks shut behind them, save for a hint of light around the first corner. Emma steps forward, feet quiet on the carpet runner and peers around the doorframe.

A couple are lounging on a threadbare couch, pillows of vibrant and vivid colors on either end and books piled up all around. After a second look, the man seems to be asleep, while the woman cards her fingers through his hair, book perched against her knee.

“Oh hello!”

Emma almost startles but tamps down her surprise, bracing the doorframe, the sleeping man definitely startles awake and Killian hides his chuckle behind a cough.

“Sorry. I didn’t mean to --” Emma starts but trails off when the woman pops up from the couch, leaving the man bereft of his sleeping spot. “Sorry,” Emma whispers again, but he waives her off, sitting up.

“You must be Emma and Killian. I’m glad you made it safe.”

The woman with cheeks flushed almost the same color as her hair, lends out her hand in a warm handshake, smile settling easy over her features.

“Are you the owners?” Emma inquires, glancing around. “We called to say we were coming in late? We gave up our private room for a group one?”

“Nah. We’re travellers like you. I’m Anna, this is Kristoff. We just overheard you were coming in late and Sidney, that’s the man who runs the place, looked tired. So since you’re bunking with us, it was no problem to wait up.”

“That’s incredibly kind of you, you must let us--” Killian started but Kristoff shook his head.

“We’ve learned a little kindness can go along way. No stress man. Honestly, you did us a favor. It gave Anna extra time to plan our day tomorrow, which we thought you might be interested in joining us in,” Kristoff explains before placing a quick kiss to the top of Anna’s head.

Emma watches the whole interaction with amazement, their kindness another kind of overwhelming and reaches back, finding Killian’s hand immediately.

“Anyway, you must be exhausted. We’ll show you your bunks.”

Emma can only nod and follow them down the hall.

 

**xo**

 

It doesn’t take long for them to settle in, dropping their bags and quickly washing up in bathroom. Emma is standing against their bunks, finger tracing the picture of the winding road on her postcard, the words she wants to write too big, too extraordinary for a girl like her. She glances up when she hears Killian come back into the room.

“May I?” he whispers pointing to the light switch. Anna and Kristoff are already settled in their bunks and with the words too scary to write, Emma nods.

She is still standing by her bunk when Killian joins her, reluctant to crawl up.

She feels his warm breath against her ear before his low words follow.

“You said you would let me take care of you.”

She feels the press of his lips against her bare shoulder.

She turns, confused.

“What?” she whispers and she can just make him out in the darkness. He shakes his head and pulls back the sheets.   

“Get in, love.”

She hesitates, feeling silly and needy and --

“I sleep better beside you. Let me return the favor tonight. 

She decides she doesn’t need more coaxing than that, not for something she wants so badly.

She slides under the blankets and makes room for him, easily settling against his chest. She listens to his heart and lets it lull her, the exhaustion already creeping back in but something pulls her back.

“Thank you, Killian. I just --”

Her words are barely a whisper and almost get caught in her throat but he stays patient, fingers running up and down her arm, letting her know he’s listening.

“Thank you,” she finally repeats, the emotions of the day just a little too much to put into words.

“Anything your heart desires, Swan.”

She holds him a little tighter, heart full.

“I’m going to write that on my next postcard,” she mumbles, sleep so very close.

She’s not sure if she dreamt the last words or actually said them out loud but their truth remains.

“I may have already found it.”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> What’s the coolest thing you’ve come across on a road trip?
> 
> See you next week for chapter 10!


	10. Chapter 10

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks always, always, always. So many of you have taken time to leave me comments and kudos and it is so appreciated! 
> 
> Always, thanks to @shippingtheswann for the cheering and beta work (go read her wonderful story!), @imagnifika for finding the heart of the story with her art, @halobxist & @meanderingcaptainswanmusings for everything xo. And please keep supporting all the other CSBB authors and artists. The content everyone is bringing is truly amazing. 
> 
> And now... let's see if Emma and Killian can find a quiet moment, or is that, you need to be quiet, Swan? ;)

“We should get matching tattoos.”

“Um, no. I’ve known you for less than a week.”

“Emma.”

Emma looks up to see Anna holding a sheet of peel and stick shamrock tattoos.

“We’ve known each other almost five days, Emma. That has to count for something.”

Emma hums, tilting her head in thought before offering up a nod.

“You’re right. Fake tattoos it is.”

Anna does a little fist pump before disappearing around the corner, windchimes and spinning racks following in her wake. Emma sniffs out a laugh and moves deeper into the shop, fingers gently brushing over crystal glasses and soft linen cloths. She pauses in front of a rack of aran wool sweaters. She hesitates only a moment before picking one up, squeezing the thick fabric in her hands and finally holding it up under her chin.

“What do you think?” she asks across the store.

Anna peeks out from behind a rack of monogrammed keychains, Elsa, Emma, Killian, Anna and Kris all dangling from her fingers and narrows her eyes in study.

“Perfect!” she suddenly announces, smile blooming across her face. “You absolutely have to buy it. No question. It’s already yours.”

Emma frowns, looking down at the price tag.

“Well--”

“No well anything. You looked at one in Donegal and then again in Sligo. Killian told me you almost bought one in Derry but you put it back before he could convince you otherwise.”

Emma sticks out her tongue but turns in search of a mirror.

Although, instead of studying the sweater, she is drawn to her wind blown hair, wisps flying out from her messy bun in every direction, face scrubbed free of makeup but natural color dotting her cheeks, and oh-- she draws her hand up her neck, fingers dancing over the faint bruise.

“Kinky. You guys do that in the room, right beside us?”

Anna jumps into view, eyes alight with laughter, finding Emma’s in the mirror. Emma covers her hand over the hickey. Killian had sucked into her skin the night before and it leads to other memories. He had cornered her in the hallway outside of yet another shared room, pressing her against the wall and whispering words into her skin about needing to get her alone, about the vivid moments that kept gracing his dreams, about tasting every inch of her skin, about how hard he--

“Earth to Emma.”

This time Emma does jump, her whole body heating up.

“Come on you little hussy. Let’s get you that sweater and get back to the boys so you can go do whatever it is you were just thinking about.”

A little dazed, Emma lets Anna lead her to the cash, although not without trying to sputter out denials.

“Anna, you’ve been with us twenty four-seven, for the last four days. There’s been no time for _that_.”  

Anna smirks.

“What?”

Suddenly the woman who always has something to say is unusually quiet. She smiles at the cashier, handing over the keychains and tattoos.

“And she’ll take the sweater.”

The sweater is tugged from her hands and plopped on the counter. She almost protests but with one steely look from the always cheerful Anna, she shuts her mouth and reluctantly hands over her card, all the while studying her cryptic friend, when --

“No! When did you ever find time to fool around?” Emma suddenly exclaims.

Anna thanks the woman at the cash before linking arms with Emma and urging her from the store. They walk towards the car in silence as Emma runs the last few days in her mind. She feels as though her and Killian never had any time alone, pulled on hikes or to late night pub crawls, crammed into a room with ten or so other people or just too exhausted to even think of _it_.

She narrows her eyes at Anna, even while she follows along.

Anna chances a glance to her left and snorts.

“You should see your face. You’d fit right in with my sister. You’ll have to meet her when we’re all back home.”

Anna’s words halt Emma’s thoughts and pull them in another direction, words of home, of family, of what happens next, that there actually is an end to all of this. She feels her heart pick up and something close to panic threatens to set in. She’s been good at tucking it away, just like the envelope at the bottom of her bag, promising herself she would deal with it eventually but she had looked at the map that morning, and they’ve inched past the midway point. Every mile they drive and every new town, while beautiful and magical and exciting, brings them that much closer to Dublin.

But she’s not sure she is any closer to figuring out what to do.

What happens now?

An all important question she doesn’t want to ask because she’s too scared of the answer.

_Chicken!_ She wants someone to yell at her, to force her into action but instead she tells herself, just another few days, _then I’ll ask him, then I’ll do something_. So instead, she scrawls the question on a postcard she grabbed from the pub the night before and drops it in a mailbox. Content to let her problems sit in a dark bin for awhile. She shakes her head, and with determination turns to Anna before popping the locks to her rental car.

“No, but seriously, when?” she finally asks and Anna’s laugh follows them all the way back to the campground.

 

**xo**

 

Emma slams the car door and takes in the pristine campground, caravans parked to one side, tents to the other. It was midweek, so they were told the grounds would be quieter than on the weekends but there are still a few families sitting around picnic tables, barbecues just beginning to smoke and others such as themselves, setting up smaller tents and unfolding canvas chairs.

She takes a deep breath, enjoying the clean air, and glances up at the sky, happy to see patches of blue between the clouds, contrary to what the forecast had predicted. They seem to be setting up for a beautiful night but with the sun beginning to set, there is a slight chill the begins to fill the air.

She knows what to do and quickly slips on her newly purchased sweater, cuffs reaching to the tips of her fingers and breathes a sigh.

“Come on.”

Anna grabs her hand and leads her down the pebbled path.

They hear the boys before they see them, voices floating over the tents, and when they round the corner a burst of laughter from two new guests reaches them as well but before Emm can introduce herself, Anna pulls her up short.

“Wait,” she whispers.

Emma frowns, confused as to what she is supposed to be seeing.

She gets flicked in the forehead for it.

“Hey, what was that for?”

Anna shakes her head and turns Emma to face Killian.

“Girl. Look at him. GET. IT.”

Killian is in the middle of a deep pull from his beer, legs stretched out in front of him. His white tee pulling nicely across his chest, his cheeks flushed from the battle with the tent. He looks relaxed, happy, and not appearing to show a care in the world.

It’s a really good look on him.

“Find a dark corner or something,” Anna adds and steps away, leaving Emma a little off-kilter and stuck in place when Killian finally looks up. He catches the last bit of beer with the tip of his tongue before a smile stretches across his lips. He’s out of his chair and to her before she can even think of moving.

“You finally got it. Looks cozy,” he says quietly, slipping them into their own little bubble as his fingers find her hip, sliding under her sweater.

She shivers at his touch, his fingers cold from the bottle and then sucks in a breath as the neck of the beer bottle brushes up against her bare skin.

He grins further and she can only shake her head.

“Are we all set up?” she asks glancing around him, the tents look ready and a fire is just beginning to crackle.

“Mmm,” he hums in agreement before leaning in to whisper, “Want to see the inside of the tent?”

_Yes,_ she wants to yell but instead her fingers close around his beer and she steals it away, taking her own deep pull.

“C’mon you guys, separate yourselves and come meet Belle and Jasmine!” Anna yells out, causing Emma to jump and slide her gaze over to Anna. _Traitor_ , she mouths before offering the women an apologetic smile. She gives Killian his beer back and steps close once again.

“You know I do. But --” Her eyes dart between the thin fabric of the tent that sits a few feet away from them, the zippered door facing a young family enjoying their picnic dinner.

“Don’t say it,” he pleads, stopping her short, knowing she’s right.

She leans up, pressing the beer into his chest and leaves him with a chaste kiss to his lips that he tries to follow but she steps back.

“Anyway, we should probably go meet those women who I’m sure are already Anna’s new best friends.”

She glances over his shoulder at the two women who are now in deep conversation with Anna.

She feels Killian’s groan when he drops his forehead to her neck, gathering her close.

“Doesn’t mean we can’t uh,” she hesitates when she feels him freeze. He pulls back and his eyes are darker, searching hers. “Uh, you know, find a dark corner or something later.”

“Or something,” he echoes.

It sounds like a promise she doesn’t want to break.

 

**xo**

 

The campground has slipped into darkness, and the sounds of the day have tapered to a low hum, interrupted only by the occasional burst of laughter and crackle from the fire. More people have joined their circle, kindred travellers easily sharing stories, drinks, and a marshmallow or two.

The clinking of bottles in a cooler is a near constant accompaniment to the soft strums of a guitar, meandering notes, not quite ready to break into song yet.

And Emma steps into the middle of it all, actually feeling like she belongs.

“Tada!” She sweeps her arms out in show and just manages to stay on her feet, the weight of her new backpack tilting her backwards.

Anna’s hands behind her, keeping her upright also help. The alcohol coursing through her veins does not.

Heads turn in her direction but she only searches for one pair of eyes. She finds them over the flicker of flames, and they look more concerned than amused.

“What did you do with your suitcase?” Killian asks, getting up to take a look at her pack.

“I traded it in!”

“I didn’t mind helping, you know that,” he whispers and she steps up to place a kiss on his cheek.

“I know, but this is so much easier and more importantly, how cool do I look now?!”

Emma tries to do a pirouette to show it off but the bag filled with all her worldly possessions nearly pitches sideways. Killian catches her by the straps and tugs her close, a smile finally beginning to pull at his lips.  

“Oh so very cool, Swan,” he whispers, seeming content to hold on tight and she content to let him.

“What’s the story here?” the petite woman named Belle asks, gesturing with her roasting stick, a plump golden marshmallow on the tip.

“It’s how they met!” Anna swoons, falling into a chair, hand over her heart.

Emma glances around and swallows hard at the sudden interest in everyone’s eyes.

“Well…” Emma starts but Killian silences her with a kiss.

“I made fun of her big city suitcase. She called me a travel snob, and a cretin --”

“I think it was a creep,” Emma interrupts, her mind going back to that first meeting and his very tiny towel.

Killian stares her down, his eyes holding the full story, the one beyond the jokes, the one just for them.

“And a few other choice words but once we got that misunderstanding out of the way, she so graciously allowed me to cook her dinner and carry her suitcase,” Killian continues to explains in the briefest of terms but pauses to tuck a lock of hair behind her ear.

“And we’ve been travelling together ever since,” Emma adds.

“How long?” another voice asks, Emma looks over to see Jasmine eagerly awaiting her answer.

“Days!” Kristoff calls out.

“Weeks!” Anna replies with a laugh and neither Killian nor Emma stop to correct them and most around the fire just smile, falling back into their own conversations.  

“Feels like forever,” Killian whispers.

Emma searches his face, anything she could say, stuck in her throat, so she kisses him instead. Long, lingering, leaving her lightheaded and with a full heart.

“I think, um, I think I’m going to go change into something more comfortable,” she finally says quietly, taking a step back, his hand lingers near her strap, making sure she is steady on her feet.

“Yeah? Where are you...” his question trails off, looking down the dark path and then back to her.  

She tilts her head, biting her lip. She nods towards the showers and change rooms.

“I’ll be back in a bit.”

With a last look and fingers drifting across his, she heads down the gravel path.

 

**xo**

 

She moves slow, her mind elsewhere as she drops her pack on to the bench in the stall and wanders to the sink. She’s alone in the small locker room, sounds from the outside muted. Inside every movement echoes off the ceramic tiled walls and floor: the smack of her flip flops, the gush of water in the sink. She bends to splash some water against her face and sighs at the cold, refreshing feeling. She’s blindly reaching for a paper towel when the door swings in with a bang, its hinges protesting the sudden motion.

She nearly jumps out of her skin, standing up and grabbing the counter’s edge.

She looks over, prepared to scream when she spots Killian, carrying red plastic cups, one in his hand, the other in the crook of his elbow. He leans back against the door and grins.

“Hi.”

"Christ, Killian! You scared me," she scolds, padding over, but as soon as she’s in front, he urges her back. She hesitantly matches his steps, walking backward for every step forward.

“Apologies, love. Here,” he gestures to his elbow and she takes the newly filled solo cup. The beer is cold and crisp on her tongue and she gulps down her first few sips, while her heart continues to beat a staccato rhythm against her ribs.

She suddenly finds herself backed into her stall and watches wordlessly as he flips the lock.

She takes another sip as he places his cup next her pack and peels off his shirt.

“Wait, what are you--”

He grins stepping forward, taking her cup from her hand, safely placing it beside his.

“Taking advantage of the quiet moments and --”

He pauses his explanation to run his fingers at the edge of her sweater, and tugs it up, insisting on a little help.

She’s powerless to resist, arms lifting of their own accord. When she pops back out, sweater tossed onto the bench, she blinks at him with wide eyes.

“And this --” another pause, long enough for him to crowd into her space, backing her into the shower. “Is a quiet moment.”  

“We can’t, can we?” she whispers, eyes roving over his chest, watching where his fingers are hovering over the button on his shorts.

He pauses and she sighs. He looks up under his lashes and grins.

“Let’s see,” he whispers, leaning past her and suddenly she’s hit with a burst of cold water.

She can’t help the small cry but he swallows it with his mouth. It’s more of a chuckle than a kiss from him as she feels his smile spread against her mouth.

“Oops.”

“Oops, my ass,” she mumbles against his lips but lets herself be pulled into the kiss, and feels her body relax as the water warms against her back.

“You’ll get us both kicked out,” she whispers when he steps back and tries not to worry about the water soaking through her clothes. How can she when he completely ignores her statement, instead dropping his shorts and briefs without any preamble. He steps back close, giving her no time to think that this is the first time she’s seeing him completely naked and god is it a good look on him, even better than relaxed Killian and -- they aren’t actually going to fuck in here are they?

“No, love, as you so succinctly put it, I’m not going to fuck you for the first time in a campground shower. But, that doesn’t mean, so help me God, that we can’t have a little fun.”

She can’t believe she said that out loud.

She can’t believe the situation she’s found herself in.

She can’t believe how badly she wants it.

The water stops and he leans past her to turn it on again before lowering to his knees.

“Wha, what are you?” she whispers, her breath catching as his fingers deftly pop the button on her shorts and he tugs them and her underwear down quickly and deliberately.

She gasps when they land with a loud plop somewhere behind him.

“Killian,” she scolds, but somehow it sounds more like a sigh as her hands find their way into his hair. She tightens her grip when his lips taste the skin on the inside of her thigh, and his eyes find hers.

“As long as you can stay quiet we’ll be just fine.”

His words float up her thighs, tease where she’s aching for him, and tighten her nipples against the wet fabric of her bra.

And desperately she needs out of every last piece of clothing, it’s too tight, too constricting. Keeping even a small piece of her, away from every part of him is just not acceptable. Her fingers fumble with the clasp and finally, tossing her bra away, she is completely naked.

But still, her mind races even as her fingers slip into his hair once again.

“But, what if?” she asks, her breath coming in quicker pants, as his fans over the center of her.

She knows she’s wetter than the water pouring over her and when his fingers find out for themselves, she gasps out loud.

“Ah, ah, ah. You have to be quiet. You can do that, can’t you, sweetheart?”

He watches her intently as his fingers tease, his lips getting ever closer, she nods but when he adds a second finger, she hiccups out another soft cry that echoes off the walls.

He grins, while scolding her.

“Tsk, tsk, Emma.”

“I can’t, I can’t,” she whimpers, her voice rising, too consumed with want, too much longing, too many nights without.

He rises, every hard inch of him, brushing up against her, his fingers never stopping their steady rhythm, his cock trapped between them.

The water stops again and they both groan but he just backs her further, until her back bumps against the wall and he reaches blindly with his wrist for the button. When the water rushes out again, he bows his head, letting it run over his back as his lips find her pulse point, gently sucking. She chokes back her gasp as he pulls back, dark eyes finding hers, pinning her in place.

“See, you can. You are so good, Emma. So beautiful, so wet --”

“Just for you,” her whispered words tumble out. She barely recognizes the breathless voice, a desire she wants to embrace and when she’s rewarded with a knowing smile, she does. She closes her eyes and lets herself feel, lets her body tighten with every pass of his fingers, with his thumb adding pressure, with lips and teeth closing in on her earlobe, his own breath coming out more harshly.

“Aye. Only for me and now I want all of you. Let me feel you, love. So perfect, so warm. God, I want to be inside you. Will you let me in?”

With every low word he speaks, she feels herself slip closer to the edge, she feels her body tighten.

“Yes, please, please, please.”

“Oh, love, soon. I promise. But let me feel you fall.”

His lips leave her skin and he says nothing more until she forces her eyes on him, losing herself in the blue. He nods.

“That’s it, let go.”

And that’s all it takes, his gentle command, his eyes holding so many unspoken emotions and a last pass of his thumb, and she’s unraveling in his arms.

A hiccupped moan escapes before she buries her face in his neck, putting her own mark on his skin as he continues to whisper his praises.

How good she feels, how perfect.

She shivers as his fingers leave her and find her naked hip, squeezing. She takes another shuddered breath as she finally pulls back and crushes her mouth to his, mumbled thanks like prayers against his lips.

And finally, once her heart calms just a little --

“You, your turn.”

She moves away, just enough to find him hard and straining against her belly. She grasps him tightly and he shudders.

“I’m sorry, love, I’m so--” his words stutter out on a groan.

“Shh,” she whispers, finally able to tease him with a chide of her own, lightened by the smile on her lips. She gives him another pass, from base to tip and he drops his head to her shoulder.

“I’m so close from just hearing you, I can’t--”

It takes just a few more strokes and he’s coming too, breathing heavy into her neck, adding a new mark.

The water stops and starts a few more times before they both eventually get their breathing back to normal.

Finally, Killian squeezes her hip, waiting for her to look up and when she does, he offers her a brilliant smile, and any nerves she may have had from what they had just done, float away with the steam.

“Hi there,” she whispers, and laughs when his lips meet hers, once, twice, before falling into a long, deep kiss. She feels herself pulling him closer, even while she knows they shouldn’t be pushing their luck.

“Tomorrow. Tomorrow we get our own room. I don’t care if I have to rent out the whole hostel. I’m not sharing you with anyone.”

His words are low and full of promises she intends to make sure he keeps.

“Good,” she whispers back, finally, regrettably, stepping away but she doesn’t get far, his hand clasping hers. She looks over her shoulder and he groans.

“I think we may have just made matters worse.”

And he pulls her back for one last kiss.

 

**xo**

 

Anna gives them a knowing look when they eventually make it back, damp hair and rosy cheeked, but she thankfully says nothing, at least not in regards to where they’d been or what they’d been doing. Instead she throws them a curveball.  

“Killian, do you know any songs. You said your brother was in the Navy. You must know some sea shanties or something.”

Emma steps falter, worried Anna has just stepped on some unknown landmine but Killian doesn’t hesitate, continuing to lead them around the fire and to a free chair. He sits and pulls her onto his lap. He rests his chin against her shoulder and thinks. His lips drift up and down the curve of her neck before he seems to settle on something.

“I’m going to need you to keep time, love,” he asks quietly and then looks around to the group. “You lot, too,” he adds, with a teasing tone as he begins to pat her thigh to the beat.

And when Killian’s voice rings out, Emma is completely unprepared for the sound of it, clear and strong into the quiet of the night.

_Oh, the year was 1778_   
_How I wish I was in Sherbrooke now._

But before he can continue, a voice from across the grounds joins in. Killian pauses and looks across the way to a smaller campfire.

“Well, come on now, if you know the song,” he calls out.

Silence for a beat, then bottles clinking and finally two men appear, easy smiles, looking only a little sheepish.

“You mind if we join?” the taller of the two asks and then points to himself, “I’m Robin, and the singer here is Will,” he taps his bottle against the man beside him.

Killian nods and Belle makes room on the bench beside her. They settle in and Killian presses his lips to Emma’s neck, quietly chuckling at her shiver.

“The beat, my love.”

She feels unsteady at first but with his help starts again, the new voices easily joining in at the right spots.  

_A letter of marque came from the king_   
_To the scummiest vessel I've ever seen_   
_God damn them all! I was told_  
 _We'd cruise the seas for American gold_

All Emma can do is watch this beautiful man, as he closes his eyes and sings a song with so much emotion, that she is certain it’s something he used to sing with his brother. But he doesn’t look pained, so it’s enough to let her fall into the tale and not worry as much.

_We'd fire no guns, shed no tears_   
_But I'm a broken man on a Halifax pier_  
 _The last of Barrett's Privateers._

But something else catches her attention, the conviction in which he calls out about being a broken man with each refrain. She wants to tell him how far from the truth it is, how whole he is. Such much so, he is filling her broken parts, and putting her back together.

If he can tell her of his past, and keep his brother’s memory alive in stories and song and bring people together -- maybe it’s her turn to not be so scared.  

Although for now, she is content to drop her head to his chest, feel the words burst from him and feel his arms tighten around her.

But tomorrow.

Tomorrow she could take the next step.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!!
> 
> What's something you treated yourself to on your latest travels?
> 
> See you next week for chapter 11!


	11. Chapter 11

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks always, always, always. So many of you have taken time to leave me comments, kudos and likes and each and every one is noticed and appreciated. Thank you.   
> I'm a little delayed in replying, and I apologize. Work is a little insane around the holidays but I plan to have some time this week :))
> 
> Always, thanks to @shippingtheswann for the cheering and beta work (go read her wonderful story!), @imagnifika for finding the heart of the story with her art, @halobxist & @meanderingcaptainswanmusings for everything xo. And please keep supporting all the other CSBB authors and artists. The content everyone is bringing is truly amazing.
> 
> And now for that elusive private room...

Despite their best efforts, none of their hopeful plans have materialized. Emma has yet to find the courage to open her envelope or ask her questions and Killian’s promise of a private room disappeared with the fun they were having at the campground. The pleas from their new group of friends to stay  _ just one more night _ had been too hard to resist and the result is, Emma’s booking schedule has gone completely off the rails. The original extra night in Londonderry hadn’t helped but they could have gotten back on schedule by skipping a stop, but between meeting Anna and Kristoff, two extra nights of camping in Westport, (including bunking with new travel mates, Will and Robin, both of whom were very nice men -- yet not the ones she wanted to be sharing a room with), there’s no salvaging the planned reservations anymore.

Which means, every night from now until the end is a gamble, and not one Emma is particularly thrilled about. While it was fun to throw some caution to the wind, she liked the security of knowing she had a bed. She can’t imagine how Killian has done it for so many nights, weeks,  _ hell _ , months at a time. 

Which is probably why now, a little tired, a little sore from two lovely nights on the ground, she’s a  _ little _ more vocal about guaranteeing a comfortable place to sleep. 

“How long do you think this is going to take? I really don’t want to miss check in,” Emma grumbles through breaths she is desperately trying to slow, though thanks to the challenging hike they’re on, it’s proving difficult to breathe at all. 

“I would assume it will take as long as it needs to, darling.” There was a sarcastic edge to his voice, causing Emma to stick out her tongue, so what if he was up ahead and unable to see her. 

“It’ll be easy, they said. It will be fun, they said,” Emma mumbles, digging her walking stick into the rocky terrain, angry at the hike that was much more demanding than she had anticipated. 

“We could be sipping beer and listening to music in Galway right now,” Killian throws over his shoulder, he himself slipping on one of the many smooth and slippery stones. “Blasted rocks.” 

Emma snickers at his curse, happy to see he is having about as much fun as she is. 

“You said and I quote, it’ll just be a jaunt, Swan,” Emma throws back in a very bad attempt at a British accent. 

Killian stops and looks back, one eyebrow lifting lazily, mouth set in a line.

“I seem to recall you asking me if I was too scared to do this.”

She stomps up to him and presses a finger into his chest.

“We’re doing this because I teased you?”

She throws her hands up and pushes past him, stick digging into the ground, breath puffing out in loud pants. 

“Slow down, Emma, you’ll hurt yourself.”

She holds up her middle finger behind her before cringing when she sees the tiny chapel way, way, way in the distance. 

“Sorry,” she mumbles but then adds, “couldn’t Saint Patrick have pilgrimmed somewhere flatter?” 

“Ah, but where would the challenge be in that?” a voice comes from her side and she looks over to see a man about her age, easily navigating the deteriorating path. 

She gives him a half smile but picks up her pace, his ease a quiet competition. She sees a plateau coming up over the ridge and in her mind that means rest and a water break, she quickens her pace.

She takes a few more reckless steps before she manages to step on a rock that is a little too smooth, a little too loose and she’s falling. 

Her cry is half caught in her throat and there’s a brief moment she thinks of how badly it’s going to hurt when she hits the ground, but two strong arms wrap around her middle, saving her from injury.

“Whoa, I got you.” 

She blinks up, her adrenaline pumping, expecting to see Killian but finding the stranger instead. He settled her on her feet but keeps his hands on her hips. 

“Ok?” he asks and she nods dumbly, eyes already searching for Killian, and he’s there, right behind. But to her surprise he looks more upset than before, his walking stick on the ground, hand clenched in a fist. 

“Um, yeah, thanks,” Emma mumbles finally stepping away, glancing to her rescuer briefly before back to Killian. 

“No problem, always happy to lend a hand. It’s not a race. See you at the top!” 

The stranger gives her a wink and he’s on his way again. Before long, he’s barely a dot on the horizon and completely out of earshot. 

Emma finally gives a nervous laugh and looks to Killian. 

“I guess I could have just tucked and rolled. Faster way to the bottom.”

Her joke falls flat, she barely gets a reaction from him, save for the clenching in his jaw.

“Mmm,” he mumbles, reaching down for his stick and takes a few slow steps past her. 

“Hey, wait, that’s it?” she asks, catching up, mind you, keeping her eyes downcast to take surer steps. 

“What do you want me to say? Clearly I’m useless.” 

She pulls up short at his statement and watches him continue to climb, head down. 

“What in the world does that mean?” she calls out, starting out again. When he doesn’t answer and they finally reach some flatter ground, she reaches out for his arm but he pulls it away roughly. 

“Killian. Stop.” 

She sees the tight set of his shoulders when he finally stops, and she watches him breathe in deep shuddering breaths. 

She has no idea what’s going on, so the question rolls quickly off her tongue.

“Killian, what the hell is going on?” 

The jaw clench again. 

She takes a calming breath and walks around to face him. She opens her mouth to speak, but pauses when two older women slowly walk by. She nods to them both and takes a step closer to her now visibly upset hiker. 

“Hey, are you going to tell me what’s going on? Killian, look at me.” 

She lays her hand on his wrist and she feels him flinch but at least he doesn’t move away. 

“Look, I’m sorry I was complaining. I just really want this day to be about finding a comfortable bed, preferably with you in it and no one else around.” 

“You think that’s what this is about?” he suddenly asks, surprising them both with the tone of his voice. She frowns, completely at a loss. 

“Well, I honestly have no idea then.” 

She plants her hands on her hips and waits from him to fill her in. When he doesn’t speak right away, she looks out at the vista below. It’s beautiful, green rolling hills, deep blue waters of Clew Bay and dozens of tiny islands dotting the area. She finally begins to see what the fuss this hike is about but -- it’s nothing without Killian to enjoy it with and a glance confirms he’s not seeing the same thing she is. He’s looking down at his brace and seeming as looking as helpless as she’s ever seen him. 

“Killian, please,” she tries again, gentler this time and he finally looks up, looks into her eyes. 

“You’ve never asked me about my hand.” 

She almost rocks back on her heels at the statement, so startled by it, and while true, it’s definitely not what she thought the problem was. 

“I, um, I’m sorry?” she finally settles on, her statement coming out as a question. 

He huffs out a laugh in disbelief.

“You’re sorry? No, I’m the one the couldn’t reach out for you. This useless thing probably would have made matters worse.” 

He lifts his brace that this holding his hooked prosthetic, before dropping it in disgust. 

“Hey, wait a second, stop.” 

She reaches out for him, grasping him above the brace and not letting him pull away this time. She holds on tightly but letting him look away, letting the emotions run across his face. First anger, then frustration, and finally resignation before he turns back to her and closes his eyes. 

“Killian, I’m sorry I never asked. When we first met, it seemed rude to ask, I didn’t know how to approach it and then as we got to know each other, I just stopped thinking about it. It’s just another part of you. Really, I’m sorry--”

“Please don’t,” he whispers but she pushes on. 

“No. It’s a part of you and it’s insensitive of me to not face and for that I’m sorry, but don’t for a second think yourself useless. What happened just now, that was all me. I was stomping along, way ahead and that guy just happened to be there. Be mad that I’m an insensitive jerk but not that you couldn't swoop in like Superman.”

Finally, thankfully, she sees a small ray of hope. A smile, albeit very small. The corner of his mouth pulls up a little and she mirrors it, feeling a little better.

“You’re not a jerk,” he finally mumbles and focuses on her, eyes a little lighter, shoulders dropping. “You’re okay? You didn’t twist your ankle or anything?” he asks, hand reaching up to cup her cheek. She turns her head and presses a kiss to his palm. 

“I’m fine. I promise. Why don’t we sit down, eat some of our snacks and then walk back? I don’t want to see the top anyway.”

She takes his hand and pulls him towards some larger rocks, and finds a place to sit. He follows without protest but remains quiet. She sits crossed legged, facing him and pulls his arm with the brace into her lap. 

“Will you tell me? Do you want to tell me?” she asks shyly, fingers hesitant for the first time on his arm, drawing a line down his arm to where skin meets his brace. 

He looks out towards the view below, eyes taking in the same beautiful landscape as she had but she’s not sure he’s really seeing it, his mind clearly elsewhere. 

“It’s actually a stupid story.”

“Killian,” she admonishes him but he shrugs.

“It is. After my brother died, I -- I didn’t really know how to cope. I was reckless. I went out a lot, I drank, I picked fights. There is something to be said for getting punched in the face that makes you feel alive for a split second.” 

She tries to keep her face impassive, she knows he doesn’t want her pity, and really it’s not pity. She just knows what it’s like to be alone, and wishes she could have saved him from the sadness and pain she hears in his voice. 

“One night, I picked a fight with the wrong guy. Or guys, I guess. They never really figured it out and I honestly didn’t care at the time. I just woke up in a hospital, with a concussion, a lot of broken bones, one less hand, and a doctor telling me I was lucky to still be alive.” 

“Oh, Killian,” her words slip out before she can stop herself but he doesn’t seem to mind. She hurts for him, for who he was and all that he lost.

He shrugs like it’s not some life changing event, and she knows he doesn’t want her to make it a big deal but her reaction is beyond what she can reign in. She lifts up to her knees and wraps him in a tight hug.  

She’s happy to feel his arms hold her just as tight.

When she sits back down, she takes his arm again, drawing gentle patterns on his arm, never taking her eyes away from his face. 

“Did you start travelling after that?” she asks, curious. 

He nods slowly. 

“Obviously my clothes had been cut off, or too bloodied up to keep but somehow, someone, I don’t know if it was a doctor or a nurse found the crumpled paper in my pocket. It was the menu Liam had written our travel plans on and they left it beside my bed. It was the only thing salvaged and it served to remind me how fucking disappointed Liam would have been seeing me there. I bought my first plane ticket as soon as I was well enough to go.” 

“And here you are.” 

“Here I am,” he agrees. “Whiny American blondes and all,” he adds and her eyes widen. 

And now he does laugh, full-bellied, head thrown back and all Emma can do is wrap him up in a hug again, arms tight around his neck, nearly knocking them off their rock but Killian manages to keep them balanced, holding her just as close. 

She can’t imagine being anywhere else.She can’t imagine being with anyone else. More words threatening to spill out.

Something important on the tip of her tongue. Something a lot like love.

 

**xo**

 

They scribble a note and leave it on the windshield of Anna and Kristoff’s winnebago, both eager to get out of the parking lot and towards some privacy. Killian doesn’t protest when Emma gets behind the wheel, the earlier events still weighing on his conscience. Emma doesn’t mind, putting the music on low and concentrating on the road, her own thoughts bouncing around in her mind. 

She’s grateful to be back on flatter terrain. The roads were definitely still more narrow than back in Storybrooke but besides that, it was an easy drive past small homesteads and fields, the sky overcast but free of rain. Silence filling the car for most of the ride, but Killian still helped her through exits and roundabouts, giving her thigh a squeeze after each grateful smile before looking back out the window. 

It’s only when she catches him working the skin above his brace that she thinks to speak up again, and even then she hesitates, mouth opening and closing before silently reprimanding herself and and finally pushing the words out. 

“I really am sorry for not asking you about your injury. I don’t want you to think I would just ignore something like that. Something that is a part of you.” 

His hand pauses and he looks over. 

“No, of course not, love. Think nothing of it.”

But she shakes her head.

“It’s just that I can be a coward, about a lot of things but I really don’t want to be a coward with you,” she explains, hands once again tight on the wheel. His hand brushes over her knuckles and she loosens her hold a little. 

“You are far from a coward, Emma.” 

“Yeah, say that to the enveloppe sitting at the bottom of my bag and the couple who gave it to me still waiting for some news.” 

“Emma,” he starts but she holds up her hand. 

“Look at what you’ve done. You’ve travelled the world --”

“Running away from my problems.” 

She shakes her head. 

“You’re on the trip you and your brother always planned on doing.” 

“Emma, it took me  _ years _ to make this trip and I honestly don’t know if i ever would have made it past Derry if I hadn’t had you at my side.” 

“Derry was my fault,” she whispers and he physically turns in his seat, face incredulous. 

“Excuse me? Please enlighten me.” 

“Well, I mean, think of if you had never met me--” 

“No.” 

“Killian, let me finish,” she says and it’s without malice. It’s actually said with a bit of a laugh at his expression, his absolute refusal to play her game. 

“Absolutely not. I know what you are going to try and say and it’s rubbish. I refuse to even let you say the words. And it’s an impossibility anyway, how could I ever picture a world you aren’t in now that you’re in mine?” 

What is she supposed to say to that? 

“Good,” he finally says after a bout of silence. “Take the next left,” he adds when their last turn appears.

She carefully takes the next turn and it’s just a few more miles before they pull into the lot of a large, bright yellow building and she kills the motor. His hand closes over hers. 

“Emma, I think you are the best thing that could have ever happened to me on this trip. You gave me the courage to face, well, anything, and when you’re ready to face your own ghosts, I’ll be right here. That could be right now or tomorrow or whenever.” 

She searches his face for the lie. 

“I’m really a mess,” she mumbles but he simply shakes his head and pulls her hand to his lips. 

“Who isn’t?” 

She thinks a little and shrugs, finally offering a true smile. 

“There she is. Now let’s go see if they indeed kept our reservation for the elusive private room.” 

And with that, and his arched eyebrow, she can’t get to the front desk fast enough.

 

**xo**

 

The place turns out to be more like a bed and breakfast. The owners are kind and quick to offer homemade snacks from the kitchen while they explain the ins and out of their stay: when breakfast is served in the morning, the twenty-four hour shuttle service that’s available to get to restaurants and bars, and a little bit about the small town.

They must give the same description dozens of times a week but they manage to sound as enthusiastic and friendly as people who are just opening their doors for the first time.

“And how long have you been operating this place?” Emma asks as one of the owners slides the key into their door.

“Oh, well, Matthew, our son, is twenty-one, so it’ll be twenty-two years this fall. Even our boys help out. You’ll see them in the morning,” she explains and pushes the door open, leading them in. “And here we are.”

The light to the room flickers on, bathing it in a warm yellow light, revealing the largest room they’ve stayed in to date. Although, most striking is instead of the standard four bunk beds, the room holds one set in the corner but a large queen bed takes up most of the space right in the middle. 

Emma nearly groans at the sight of it.

She manages to wait until the owner leaves but as soon as she gently closes the door behind her, Emma’s bag is unceremoniously dropped and she launches herself into the big bed.

“Oh, I feel like a queen,” she exclaims, arms and legs thrown out wide, covering as much of the bed as she can. “I can barely believe it. I almost forgot what it feels like.”

Killian is more patient, hanging his coat, placing both their bags on chairs. He leans back against the door, seeming content to watch her.

“What are you doing? Come here, experience this,” Emma asks, turning to her side and patting the bed. 

He looks at the spot and then looks at her and suddenly the air in the room seems heavier. Like she’s only realized just now that they are really alone, no one to bother them, nowhere to go, just all this time available to them, and she’s not sure if she feels like she’s drowning in the weight of the expectation of it all or ready to swim right across to him. 

“Should I get us some food first?”

“Or I can shower first?” 

Their questions come at the same time and she laughs, falling to her back and staring up at the ceiling. She counts the wood beams running across until they are blocked out by Killian leaning over her. 

“Hi,” she whispers. 

He shakes his head and leans in to leave her with a parting kiss. 

“You shower. I’ll go find some food.”

She nods and watches him leave. It’s only when she hears the door click and his footsteps fading away that she brings the pillow over her face and groans.

After a beat, she drops the pillow and looks towards the shower. 

“Shower it is.” 

 

**xo**

 

She ends up taking her time in the shower. It loosens her sore muscles and lessens her worries, although it doesn’t do anything to diminish the realization that she has Killian all to herself. That they are finally alone and that so much has been leading to this. 

He had been right the other night in the shower. Their tryst had done nothing but make her even more aware of how badly she wanted him. And she could tell every time she caught his eye he felt the same. She feels her belly tighten with a desire, she’s never felt before and she hurries to get out of the shower, knowing exactly what she wants and for once she’s going to take it. 

She wraps herself in a towel and quickly runs one through her hair, not caring if she gets the floor wet. She tosses the extra towel in the sink and thinks if she hurries she can be waiting for him when get back. 

But when she steps out, she nearly runs into Killian, who is just stepping back into the room with a plate teeming with food.

“I, uh, hope you’re hungry,” he offers, eyes roving over her form.

She’s pretty sure he’s watching the water drip down her neck, disappearing between the valley of her breasts, just beyond the towel.

“Oh yeah, I could definitely eat… or...” 

She’s not looking at the food at all.

His eyes look up but he seems at a loss for words. She feels a small thrill at the way he swallows hard.  

“I think…” she starts and takes the plate from him and puts it down on the table and crowds into his space. His back hits the wall, and she feels his quick exhale against her skin. 

Her nipples tighten under the towel.

“I’m quite filthy, love.”

She squeezes her thighs together. 

“I don’t care.” 

“But you’re so clean.”

He draws a fingers across her collarbone and she closes her eyes at the touch. She’s so keyed up, he may as well be drawing that same finger between her legs. 

She opens her eyes and fixes him with a stare. 

“I’ll shower again later, I’ll even keep you company.” 

He laughs but still hesitates, not agreeing but not yet moving anymore than that one frustrating finger, back and forth, dipping a little lower to run over the top of her breasts. 

“You smell fucking good enough to eat.”

“So have a taste.” 

His eyes darken and his hand pauses, so she takes matters into her own hands, pulling the towel apart and letting it drop to the floor. 

“Christ,” he mumbles, “you’re so fucking beautiful.” And finally, his hand cups her naked hip, pulling her tight against him. She hiccups out a small cry when she braces her hands against his chest. His lips are a breath from hers when she pulls back. 

“Wait. You have way too many clothes on.”

She gives herself a bit of room and helps him with his shirt, tossing it somewhere behind her before hesitating over his brace. 

He almost always already has it off before climbing into bed, or just isn’t wearing it but this is the first time where she can really reach out and touch. 

“Can I?” she asks, fingers drifting to the strap over his shoulder. 

He nods and this time she doesn’t hesitate to help it over his shoulder blade, loosening the hold it has. He helps her, getting one arm out and showing her how he pulls off the brace, all the while, eyes hesitantly flicking up to hers. 

When it’s off, and she smiles, she expects him to place it somewhere on a table but when she bites her lip, it’s dropped to the floor and he’s on her before she can say anything else. His hand cups her breast, and his head is just descending when there’s a knock at the door.  

“Don’t you dare stop,” she whispers through clenched teeth. 

His eyes light up and he spins her back against the door with a quiet thud and his mouth finally closes over her nipple. Her head falls back, eyes closing.

“Emma? You guys coming to dinner?” 

_ Anna. _ Emma could kill her. She could actually commit murder right then and there. 

“No. Nope.”

He brings his teeth into the mix and her eyes nearly roll back into her head. 

“You sure?” 

“Anna, I really like and appreciate you but if you could go away and not come back until morning or next year, that would be great.” 

There’s a cackle and something that sounds like, a  _ finally! _

“Roger that.” 

And abruptly she’s being picked up and carried to the bed. She doesn’t care who hears the surprised cry because the way Killian is looking at her, the whole world could be outside her door and she wouldn’t care. He drops her without warning in the middle of the mattress and she lets out a breathless laugh, falling back to her elbows.

He takes her in from the end of the bed, hand on his top button, eyes roving.

“Killian.” 

“Emma.”

“Get on with it.” 

“I mean I could still go shower.” 

She scrambles up to her knees, one hand closing over his, the other over the outline of him, pressing hard against her hand. Her teeth graze over his neck as he swallows, before her tongue darts out to taste. 

“Now, Killian.”

She pulls back and her hand gives him another pass. He groans low in his throat. 

“As the lady wishes.” 

He captures her hands and urges her back to the bed. She lays back and watches him deftly pop his button, and finally rid himself of his pants and underwear. She holds her breath as he crawls over her, legs falling open to cradle him between her thighs. 

His fingers pinch and tease and he watches her face for a reaction and she can’t help the whine that escapes, her eyes closing at the sensation. 

She arches her neck when he switches sides and mouth drops low, running up the column of her throat, finding the edge of her lobe before biting down. 

“I could listen to the sounds you make all night,” he whispers, his voice rough, his hips finally lowering another inch. She feels him brush against her and she gasps. 

“All night? Is that a promise?.” 

He buries his face in her neck and slides against her again, slow and dirty. 

Her thighs tighten against his hips but somehow, she remembers. 

“Condom, condom is on the nightstand.” 

He teases her one more time before pulling back with dark eyes. She can’t help but pull him down for a kiss before letting him go to grab the foil packet. 

She watches him with her heart beating frantically in her chest, an overwhelming feeling taking hold, a want so great her words catch in her throat, only a soft please slipping out. 

“I’m right here, we’re right here, oh God,” he echoes as he finally slips inside, pushing deep and swallowing her gasp. 

_ It’s never been like this _ , she thinks. 

“It’s never,” she finally whispers out loud, hand cupping his cheek, nails scratching through his scruff before pulling his lips to hers once again. 

“Oh love, I know.”

She tightens her legs and pulls him deeper, closing her eyes against the sensations. It’s so much more than she could have imagined. He fills her with every stroke, bringing her closer each time, whispering how good she feels, how tight, how wet. 

Her eyes open when his hand trails down her body, intent on touching where they are joined, and she’s already so close, so overwhelmed it doesn’t take much. 

“It’s okay, Emma, give this one to me.”

And she nods, wanting so badly to fall. 

Another pass of his fingers and she does, crying out as the orgasm still manages to catch her by surprise, the pleasure so much more intense than she had imagined.

His head falls to her neck, his groan causing goosebumps to spread across her skin as he takes what he needs, following soon after, too caught up in the feel of her. 

She pulls his full weight onto her, legs wrapping around him as they both catch their breath, bodies slick with sweat, hearts still pounding.

She runs her fingers through his hair, content to just have him there. 

Her lips find his ear and she whispers, “That was… wow..” 

He laughs and then groans, slowly pulling it out, but stopping to look down at her. 

“What?” she asks, a little shy and the intense look. 

“Nothing. I’m just committing this moment to memory.” 

She’s surprised to feel her cheeks heat up. 

He presses a kiss to her forehead. 

“Come on, I need that shower. Your offer to join still stands?” 

And who is she to deny him. 

“I did say I would, didn’t I?” she asks and plucks a grape from the plate before being tugged away into the bathroom. Her laugh following after her. 

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!  
> See you on time next Tuesday for Chapter 12!
> 
> Annnnnd... what's the last thing you started where you were like whoa, I might be a little over my head here? Ha.


	12. Chapter 12

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> A/N: Thanks for all the love, for all the comments and for just being all around awesome. So many apologies for not getting to the comments this week. I PROMISE it is my top priority this week because it's the best part of this whole experience, hearing from all of you!!
> 
> Always, thanks to @shippingtheswann for the cheering and beta work (go read her wonderful story!), @imagnifika for finding the heart of the story with her art, @halobxist & @meanderingcaptainswanmusings for everything xo. And please keep supporting all the other CSBB authors and artists. The content everyone is bringing is truly amazing.
> 
> And now for a little bit of a wild ride…

Emma, slides lower in her Adirondack-style chair, lifting her socked feet to the railing and closing her eyes. The briny ocean air gently moves over her skin and she sighs at the sensation, her mind replaying the last few days.

Ever since leaving Galway, their days slip one into the another with an effortless ease. Some intangible thing settles in their relationship, an ease or a comfort, or maybe a deeper understanding of each other. Whatever it is, it feels good and so Emma doesn’t try to put it into words, she doesn’t need to, instead she chooses to bask in it. 

It had also been easy to say goodbye to Anna and Kristoff and set off on their own once again. Of course, her and Anna had exchanged numbers and promises to see each other again, but Emma and Killian were more than ready to slip back into their own bubble.

And they did, taking a meandering tour of the West coast, no solid plan except for a map and Emma’s guidebook to lead them. Killian even got in on the fun of pulling out pamphlets from the front of restaurants and hostels, holding them up with excited eyes when he finds something particularly interesting. 

One taps her right one the nose at that very moment as Killian settles in the chair beside her having refilled their pints.

Emma takes the flyer and pauses, beer midway to her mouth. She takes in the colorful surfboards pictured on the front of the flyer and then looks down to the beach, watching the waves crash onto the sand, chasing the gulls back and forth. She shivers.

“It’s going to be freezing.”

Her eyes cut to him and he shrugs.

“They have wetsuits”

She’s unconvinced. 

“I promise to warm you up after.” 

She looks a little more hopeful. 

“And make you another one of those cinnamon hot chocolate things you like so much.” 

She grins and taps her beer to his. 

 

**xo**

 

They surf in Lahinch and Killian is terrible at it.

And while Emma is only slightly better, she cackles from her board every time he comes up, water sputtering from his mouth, hair plastered to his forehead. 

Their teacher remains patient and by the end, they both finally manage to ride a few small waves, Emma making it all the way to the beach. 

“I’m going to start competing! You’ll find me on the circuit!” she cries out before dropping to her butt on the sand. Killian eventually joins her, flopping onto his back. 

“Everything hurts.” 

She laughs again and he looks up at her with one eye, squinting against the sun.

“You’re a mean, mean woman.” 

She shakes her head and stands, brushing the sand from her butt and holding out her hand. 

“Alright, come on and let this mean woman take care of you then. Let’s go warm up and then I can show you my pamphlet for tomorrow.” 

 

**xo**

 

Her pick, the Dingle Dolphin Tour. 

She can barely stay still as she tells him about their upcoming trip, shaking the pamphlet from up high as she stands on their bed. 

He wraps his towel around his neck as he approaches, shorts riding low on his hips, skin pink from the hot shower. He stops at the edge of the bed and looks up, eyebrow raised.  

“We aren’t paying some overpriced jackass to take us out to see a dolphin that probably doesn’t even exist.”

Emma isn’t deterred, holding out the pamphlet. 

“He’s been seen almost every day since 1983!” 

“Sure he has.” 

“You’ll see.” 

Killian takes the paper and flings it behind, hand and wrist finding her bare legs instead. His fingers tickle behind her knee before he wraps his arms around her thighs and sends her tumbling back to the bed. Her laugh follows quickly and so does Killian, crawling over her, hand tugging on the shirt she is wearing. 

“Alright Swan, if you say so. Now onto more pressing matters. I was looking for this shirt.” 

Emma wraps her legs around his hips, pulling him down, a small shrug.

“You want it back?”

She lifts her arms above her head, waiting. He grins and pulls it off the rest of the way, dropping it to the floor. 

“Not really. It looks better on you anyway, but I think I enjoy this look even more.” 

She watches as his eyes dip, taking in her naked form. 

“You’re ridiculous,” she whispers, but arches as his mouth closes over a nipple, teasing it to a point. 

“Am I though?” his words roll over her skin, eyes bright as he looks up at her. 

“Come here.” 

And who is he to deny her, lips closing over hers.    
  


**xo**

 

“Killian, there he is!”

Emma points eagerly, while standing on her tiptoes, trying to look over the crowd that had rushed to the side when the captain announced there had been a sighting. 

She pulls her hood tighter around her face as the wind picks up, it’s a cold, blustery day on the water but her smile can’t be contained. He shakes his head but can’t help his returning grin.

“What are you waiting for, get a closer look.”

He nudges her forward and she finds a spot, laughing and letting out a shout with the rest of the passengers when Fungie the dolphin delights them with a jump through the air.

Killian doesn't bother taking any photos of the dolphin, too busy capturing Emma to care.

“The show’s there,” she says, pointing to the water. He simply shakes his head and raises the lense again, capturing her, shyly looking away, smile just for him. 

“Thanks love, but I’ve got a perfect view right here.” 

 

**xo**

 

Over dinner that night in Cork he plops down more flyers, each one getting them closer to Dublin than the next. Each one reminding her of the end and she feels the panic slowly start to rise as he talks on.

“What do you want to do first? Kiss the Blarney Stone? See the ruins in Cashel or we can go right to Kilkenny and tour the Castle?”

He’s looking through her guidebook when she finds her voice. 

“Or we could go to the Cliffs of Moher?” she suggests, unable to look him in the eye. Fingers following the scratches on the old wood table they sit at.

She feels his gaze and bites her lip.

“I thought we decided there would be too many people?”

“I know.” 

She still doesn’t look up, heart hammering, worried if she does, he’ll see through her.

“We saw tour bus after tour bus head that way.”

“We did.”

His hand closes over hers, turning it over and playing with her fingers.

“It’s 3 hours north of here.”

“It is.” 

She takes a deep breath through her nose and forces a smile, finally looking up.

“You’re right, sorry.”

He doesn’t look convinced but she hurries to wave him off and grab her guidebook back.

“I read somewhere that instead of going to the Rock of Cashel there’s a monastery across the way that’s even cooler to see. An old Abbey.”

She’s grateful he lets her change the subject because in all honesty, she doesn’t care. She doesn’t need to see the Cliffs or the Castles or anything at all. She just wants time to slow down because she knows in her heart, she needs to get home sooner than later. There is a life waiting for her there that she can’t put off forever, friends that care about her, bills and rent and the small matter of two people who claim to be her parents. 

But of all the places Killian has mentioned, never once as he talked about going stateside. Of course he’s spoken of the places he’s already been that she should see and of counties he hopes to visit one day but she can’t help but worry about what he’s not saying. 

Never mind what she’s not asking. 

Her head snaps up when music starts up from the back of the bar. 

“Why don’t you go check them out? I just need to run to the bathroom and I’ll find you,” Killian offers already, standing.

She nods distractedly and slowly walks to the back to find a spot. She allows herself to get swallowed up into the crowd, letting herself sway with the people and hum along to the familiar tunes, once again hoping time would stop.

Killian finds her during a particular crowd favorite, the collective voices nearly louder than the band. His arms wrap around her from behind, pulling her close. He sings the words softly into her ear and Emma closes her eyes, trying to not let her emotions overwhelm her. 

“We can leave first thing in the morning. We’ll be there by noon.” 

She spins in his arms. 

“Yeah?” 

“Of course. Let’s see some cliffs.” 

She hugs him tight and tighter still when she feels her tears threaten.

“Thank you.” 

 

**xo**

 

They go to the cliffs and they walk along the well worn path, slowly with the other tourists. They take pictures and Killian laughs when ten feet is too close to the edge for her. When the fog slowly lifts, and the cliffs jut out, dark and imposing over the blue waters of the Atlantic, it takes her breath away.

But even more so, when she looks out at the ocean -- she knows she is looking out towards home.

And yet she remains silent, lets the fear build up inside and lets him lead her back to the car, bringing them another step closer to Dublin. 

 

**xo**

 

Eventually they make it to Blarney Castle and kiss the stone. Unfortunately the gift of gab isn’t magically bestowed upon her. She pictured kissing the stone and suddenly turning to him and demanding to know what his plan is for the next weeks, months, years.  _ Do you think you could live in the United States, with me, who you’ve only known for a short while, while I figure out my life? _

No, she decides, that would be crazy and why would he? It’s probably why he’s never suggested it and why she is now on the verge of a panic attack as they pull into the Dublin city limits.

Meanwhile, Killian doesn’t seem to have a care in the world, for once not his perceptive self.

“Oh, I called the car hire this morning and we can just drop the car off right here in the city, no need to go to the airport. That way we won’t have to worry about parking, we won’t need to keep paying for car we don’t need.”

Emma is so thrown by the sudden change of plans, she’s at a loss for words, she simply nods and follows his instructions to where they need to drop the car off. 

The whole ordeal goes by in a blur, her mind unable to stop racing to ask questions or really understand what any of it means. 

She hands the keys over and signs whatever papers are placed in front of her and lets Killian fix her pack, pulling on her straps, so it sits higher, easier to carry.

“Don’t worry -- we won’t have to walk with these for long. As soon as we find a place that has room for the night we’ll drop them off,” he explains taking her hand and leading her out. 

And again she follows. 

It’s not like her to remain so silent, so complacent, but it’s taking all her energy to just keep her breathing under control, to not worry about her racing heart. 

He pulls them towards a busy intersection, and she doesn’t even know how they got there. She’s cold, and her pack is heavy and he’s pulling out a map and she just wants to cry. 

“Did you even try to call for a hostel this morning when you decided for us that we didn’t need a car or a place to stay or any plan at all?” her questions finally burst out, surprising them both.

He looks up, brows furrowing at her outburst. 

“What’s going on?”  

“It’s like you don’t even care about where you’re going next. Like you don’t think of the future at all. Well, I fucking need to and I’m going to start with a place to sleep.”

He looks at her a little stunned and in her distressed state she takes it as an agreement of his not caring and stomps away, getting jostled and grumbled at by passerbyers, and just barely missing a car. 

She doesn't care. She keeps her head down and walks.

It only takes a few minutes for her heavy breaths to come quicker, for the tears of embarrassment to threaten and for the realisation that she just needs to tell him, to be at the tip of her tongue but when she turns, he’s not there. 

She spins, looking all around. 

He’s not there, and she has no idea where she is and, and and --

“Oh, God.” 

She clamps her hand over her mouth at the sound of her own panicked voice and she feels the first wet tear hit her hand. She breathes in through her nose but it doesn’t help. Another fat tear, tracks down her cheek. 

She tries to retrace her steps but nothing seems familiar. 

She tries different directions, all leading to more confusion and night is falling and she’s realising she has no idea where to even begin. She should have stayed in one place and -- she shouldn’t have gotten mad in the first place. 

She should call him but--

The worst hits her -- she can’t. She can’t call him because she never had his number to begin with, there was never a reason to. She doesn’t even know if he has a phone. 

Someone else bumps her, nearly sending her sprawling and she just manages to catch herself against a nearby bench.

What the hell is she going to do? 

She’s lost him.

And so she does the only thing she can think of. She slowly lowers herself to the bench and cries.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Don't hate me too much for that??
> 
> And also... there won’t be any updates for the next two weeks. So I wanted to take a second to wish everyone a very safe and happy holiday season. I’m thinking of each and every one of you. Thank you for making 2018 an amazing one and I hope you'll all come back in 2019 to finish off this journey with me.
> 
> I’ll be back with Chapter 13, January 8th, 2019!
> 
> But… there will be a little Christmas fic around the 25th :)
> 
> AND! The last question for 2018. What are your holiday plans!? Any new years resolutions? Let's chat! xoxo


	13. Chapter 13

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I hope everyone had a lovely holiday season (and happy, happy New Year!) Thanks for your patience with the last chapter and the two week break. We are back with the penultimate chapter, hang in there! And just thanks for being awesome amazing people. I appreciate the heck out of each and every one of you. xo
> 
> Always thanks to @shippingtheswann for the cheering and beta work (go read her wonderful story!), @imagnifika for finding the heart of the story with her art, @halobxist & @meanderingcaptainswanmusings for everything xo. And please keep supporting all the other CSBB authors and artists. The content everyone is bringing is truly amazing.
> 
> And now what will Emma do...

Night has crept over the city, aided by the thick ashen clouds and the light mist of rain slowly dampening everything it touches. The light from the streetlamps diffuse golden on the wet cobblestone streets, guiding tourists and locals alike to the overcrowded pubs and restaurants, casting spotlights on those pulling on their cigarettes and laughing with friends.

Emma doesn’t register any of it, faceless people, and nameless places, all passing in a blur. She glances around but her mind is too preoccupied with conjuring up negative scenarios, each one worse than the one before.

Maybe it was his plan to disappear all along.

He’d had enough of her mess.

Or worse yet, something has happened to him and she’s been too selfish, thinking only of herself. Should she check the hospitals?

She feels her heart pound, getting itself stuck somewhere in her throat and when she does try to gasp for breath, she freezes again at the sound of her own frantic sob, clamping her hand over her mouth. Her eyes dart around, hoping no one has taken notice and when she sees no adverse reactions, she forces herself to take a measured breath through her nose, and then another.

While she manages to keep breathing, it doesn’t stop the traitorous hot tears from continuing to escape from the corners of her eyes, rolling silently down her cheeks.

Her knees clutch tighter at her pack between her legs, as if holding onto that will somehow help her hold herself together. Crazy, but it works, or it works sufficiently enough to make her feel like she won’t shatter right then and there. When her tears begin to abate, she weakly drops her hand to her lap and sucks in a stuttered breath.

As the cooling, damp air reaches her lungs, she closes her eyes and takes a few more calming pulls. She feels the mist against her face, feels the moisture soak into her clothes and the goosebumps that spread across her skin.

For one blissful moment, her terrible thoughts fade and she sees his smile. She sees all the times Killian reached back for her, pulling her through the people, always patient, always waiting.

And she ran away.

She wipes angrily at another stray tear and forces her eyes open.

She has no idea how long she’s been sitting on the bench, or where she is, or where to look first or--

Her pulse quickens and she forces her feet to push up from the ground, lifting her from the bench, a sudden need to do something because if she doesn’t get up from that bench she might never find the strength to. She hoists her bag onto her back and groans at the weight, and it’s a weight she’s not entirely sure is just from the pack on her shoulders but she doesn’t dwell on it, at least not right away.

For now, she is determined to find a street name and a starting point, hostels. She’ll check all of them.

She fumbles for her phone and with shaky fingers, cold fingers and pulls up a google search. How many could there possibly be?

Fifty according to hostels dot com.

Fifty according to hostelworld dot com.

At least forty-five in her guidebook.

And while many overlap, some don’t, so where does that leave her? She’s too tired to do the math but without any other plan, she sets off towards the closest red dot on her map, her steps slow but determined.

**xo**

Her head falls lower and her heart drops further in her chest every time there is no man with dark messy hair in the lobbies she searches. Each confused look from front desk clerks and each time there is no account of a tall man with a British accent her hope shrinks. There is no sign of him anywhere.

She’s walked for hours, until most places were full up and closed, or quiet for the night. She walked until her clothes are soaked through and her back aches.

Some clerks are too busy or too tired to care, some clearly think she is crazy, while others who get a better look at her red rimmed eyes and hesitant questions do take more time to really think before shaking their heads.

A few offer suggestions of where she might look and promise to call if they do see him -- she hesitates on what to call him. Boyfriend seemed silly, friend isn’t enough, other words tie her stomach in knots and yet --

“He’s just -- mine. My Killian,” she whispers to yet another sad ‘no’ but before she can step away from the counter, the older gentleman at the desk covers her chilled hand with his.

“Why don’t you sit down and warm up a little?”

Emma eyes the front door, knowing only rain and darkness await her. And the overwhelming feeling she is no closer to finding Killian that she had been at the start begins to creep back in. For all she knows, they’ve been going in opposite directions, or he could be fast asleep somewhere warm, or on a bus travelling further away from her as the seconds tick by.

A shiver racks her body.

“I’ll fetch you some tea and you can just rest a moment. If he hasn’t been in yet, I’m sure he’ll be by soon. You wouldn’t want to miss him and I can imagine how frantically he must be looking for you.”

A weathered hand squeezes hers.

“I don’t know.”

“I’ll be but a moment. I promise.”

Emma spots an overstuffed chair in the corner, faded red plaid material, a thick blanket draped across the back. She can see herself curling up in it and sleeping for days, sleeping until this nightmare is over.

“Have a seat.”

Emma finally relents, her pack a burden she can no longer hold up. She drags her wet sneakered feet to the corner of the room, and unceremoniously dumps her bag on the floor but hesitates before sitting down.

“Don’t worry about your wet clothes, it’s only water afterall.”

She turns to find the man watching her patiently before leaving her with a wink.

It’s only another beat before she finally collapses into the chair, feeling swallowed up by the plush material. She feels small and alone. She kicks her shoes off and draws her feet up, resting her forehead against her knees.

It’s only when she hears the tea cup settle on the coffee table beside her that she looks up.

He’s brought her tea and a slice of coffee cake and she could very well cry at the kindness.

“Just remember, while there is tea, there is hope.”

She doesn’t know what to say. She doesn’t know if she can find the right words and she doesn’t know how much hope she has left. The man seems to sense that, so his next move seems more cautious. He hesitates but finally moves slowly to reach into his back pocket and produces a postcard. He holds it close while he searches for his words.

“I think some might think the act of writing love letters is silly or outdated but I still think it’s the best way to say something we might be afraid of saying out loud. Perhaps while you wait for your young man to show up, you can write him a note?”

Emma blinks at him, wondering how he could know her so well. How he could have found exactly what she needed.

She reaches out for the postcard and holds it to her heart long after the man has retreated back to his perch behind the desk. She closes her eyes and knows, if her heart could press the words onto the card, what they would be, she just needs to take that next step and write them herself.

She takes a moment to test them in her mind, to feel the sureness of them before opening her eyes and reaching into her pack. It’s while she is searching for her pen that her fingers brush against the envelope tucked deep inside her bag.

And somehow, for some reason, this time she doesn’t feel the swift paralyzing panic. This time it whispers of hope, of finding lost things, which is something she could really cling to right now, and so she doesn’t push it further down into her pack. No, this time she grips it hard with both hands and abruptly tugs it loose.

It falls into her lap, while her pen flies out, sliding across the floor, taking a lone white sock and a hair tie along for the ride. She scrambles to pick them up, shoving the items back in her bag but keeps the envelope and pen close.

She huffs out a breath and lays the envelope flat on her lap, along with the postcard, her emotions warring on what she wants to attempt first. She knows the words she wants to write, feels them, wishes she could could say them to him right now and yet, her hand trembles when she picks up the pen. So she tucks the card between her and the chair and flips the envelope over. And as she did when she first received the package, she draws her fingers across her handwritten name, trying to imagine the woman with the hopeful eyes write it out as carefully as can be, knowing her daughter was going to see it one day. She wonders if the woman herself had drawn a finger over the cursive. She wonders if there is a resemblance to her own writing.

She looks at each letter carefully. Maybe the letter m, perhaps the a.

She shakes her head at her wandering thoughts and reaches a trembling hand out for her tea, savouring the rich flavour as it warms her from the inside out. Her breathing comes easier after another sip and she thinks for a moment that the old man might be right, maybe there is a little bit of hope infused in every cup of tea.

She rests the cup back in the saucer, and with determination finally flips the envelope over, fingers slowly and carefully breaking the seal. There is a part of her that knows that she won’t find all the answers or the peace she is looking for inside that envelope, probably far from it. But if two people, who claim to be her parents, can find her after all this time, want to find her. Maybe there is hope for her yet.

Instead of hesitating any further, Emma lifts the envelope high and dumps the contents onto her lap.

Legal documents, handwritten letters, newspaper clippings, and pictures, dozens of pictures, scatter across her lap. Emma carefully moves the papers around, catching a few words here; confidential adoption, dozens of Dear Emmas, but it’s the pictures that give her pause.

She recognizes the same couple in all of them, it seems to be a timeline of their life, from their adolescent years to some as recent as they looked in the diner that day.

Emma gasps as a small picture slips from the others.

She only has a handful of pictures of herself as a child, never staying with a family long enough to fill an album, uninterested in keeping many mementos of those years. She certainly had no pictures of herself as a baby.

But.

But one thing has stayed with her all these years, a blanket. A carefully knit, wool, baby blanket, white as snow, a purple ribbon around the edges, the simply trimming, along with her name stitched across the top.

The same blanket she is looking at in an old weathered picture, wrapped tightly around a crying baby.

_Impossible._

And yet she is looking at it with her own eyes. Looking at herself.

She fumbles through the papers, frantically searching for an explanation.

She finds it in the form of the most recent ‘Dear Emma’.

Emma’s eyes blur with tears as she tries to read, tries to understand an insane story of two young people falling in love against their parents’ wishes, of finding out they were pregnant and only wanting to give their daughter her best chance. A deceitful father promising to find the perfect family for their newborn, a family that promised to visit and send pictures and let them see at least a glimpse of their daughter growing up. Only to have been lying all along, selling the baby to the highest desperate bidders.

Emma can’t begin to understand the impossible story, the heartbreak, all those words on the pages but she does keep coming back to a certain few.

_We never stopped looking for you._  
We never stopped loving you.  
We always had hope we would find you again. 

Her chest tightens. It’s all so much, maybe too much? And she is not sure if she wants to jump in with both feet and brave the unknown, or stuff it all back in the envelope and pretend like she never read any of it.

Killian would know what to do, she thinks. He would take her hand and tell her how strong and brave and capable she is. He would believe in her when she can’t find it in herself to do it.

Are they angry she hasn’t answered them? _No, I’m sure they would understand_ , she remembers him telling her.

What if they don’t like me? _Impossible_ , he would press into her skin, whispered words against her forehead, calming her worries and racing heart.

She looks down at the spread of papers in her lap and a thought so strong comes to her, nearly knocking the breath from her lungs. It’s not the why, or the heartbreaking story of how she was pulled away from her parents, it’s not the proof in the pictures either. It’s that, these two people never gave up, that they deemed her, Emma Swan, important enough to look for, to hope for, to love. That she was never really alone.

Her emotions bubble back up at that thought, and she thinks, she’s not alone now. That Killian is out there, she just needs to find him, to not give up, because she lo--

She presses the heels of her hands into her eyes until she see stars.

_Think, Emma._

Her mind races through where she’s already been, she thinks of the hostels she hasn’t checked yet.

She could call, she could try and retrace her steps once more, she could put an ad on Craigslist. Her heart picks up at the possibilities, and she feels a little foolish having not gone through her options earlier, ruled purely by her heart and panic.

But first…

She pulls the postcard out again, more determined than ever and takes in the photograph on the front. The card carries a standard beautiful shot of the Cliffs of Moher but there’s a text overlay, relaying an assortment of random facts about Ireland.

84,421 square kilometres.  
4,726,000 people.  
5,500,000 sheep.

Emma finds a brief moment to smile, thinking back to the sheep and flips the card over, her words flowing with surprising ease.

_How many miles have we traveled?_  
_How many people and places have we seen?_  
_How many stories will remain with us when this is through?_  
_I’m not sure, save for one._  
_I love you. I do, I do._

She drops the pen and leans her head back against the chair, eyes on her messy handwriting. She presses a kiss to her fingers and then brings them to her words.

“Emma!”

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> Thanks for reading!
> 
> Who do you think is there?  
> Get anything special for Christmas!?
> 
> One more to go!! xoxo


	14. Chapter 14

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> I can’t believe we're here, the final chapter. This has been an absolutely amazing experience, beyond anything I could have ever imagined. And it’s honestly because of everyone that’s read, liked, reblogged, left comments, tweeted and just simply really being awesome amazing people. I know I’ve said it before but I appreciate the heck out of each and every one of you. You have no idea. So thank you, thank you, thank you. I wish I could take each of you out for a Guinness or hot chocolate, your choice ;) xoxo
> 
> So much love to everyone at @captainswanbigbang your encouragement, patience and work to put this event on is out of this world. Thank you. Thanks to @shippingtheswann, @imagnifika for amazing collaborations and to @halobxist & @meanderingcaptainswanmusings for everything xo. 
> 
> And last but not least, please keep supporting all the other CSBB authors and artists. We are one lucky fandom!
> 
> And now will Killian find Emma?

Emma tightly grasps the arms of her chair, whitening her knuckles and holds on until the tips of her fingers begin to hurt. Her heart pounds wildly in her chest as she turns her head, eyes wide. And there, just across the room stands Anna in all her spirited grandeur, hair damp and frizzing from the rain, cheeks pink and eyes bright with elation, like she’s just come in from a race.

Emma isn’t sure if she wants to throw herself into Anna’s arms or collapse into her chair and cry in relief. She’s momentarily frozen, simply trying to find her voice that is currently nowhere to be found. The how and the why and the do you know where he is are all clamoring hard to come out first that they get stuck in her throat, forcing Emma to remain silent instead, blinking at her friend, a new tear escaping.

“Oh, Emma. It’s okay!”

Anna rushes to her side and grabs hold of her hands.

“Yeah?” she squeaks out her question.

Anna squeezes her fingers and her expression gentles from excitement to understanding.

“So, okay. I promise. Let’s call Killian right now, he’s sporting the same expression you are, although with a little more self-loathing.”

Emma’s face scrunches in confusion.

“But he doesn’t --”

“Have a phone? I know, what a dummy! But listen to this, Kristoff and I were on our way to grab a bite to eat at the Brazen Head, and there was Killian, pacing outside a coffee shop. He was trying to figure out how to connect to the Wi-Fi on the phone he’d just bought, muttering over and over that he must have missed a hostel as he looked for you. So anyway, I run over to him and--”

“Anna,” Emma interrupts, eyes pleading. “Why didn’t you just call me?”

“Uh, we only called you about a thousand times,” she says, shaking her phone in front of Emma’s face.

“What are you talking about? My phone never rang.”

Emma fishes her phone out of her pocket, only to find the screen dark. Her stomach drops. She presses the home button and the dreaded dead battery image flashes across the screen.

“Oh look, here’s Kristoff.”

Kristoff’s grinning face fills Anna’s screen and all Emma wants to do is steal the phone away, she wants to ask more questions, she wants Killian to suddenly appear directly in front of her.

“Kris, are you with Killian? I found her. At Abrahams on Lower Gardiner. You’re where? Oh!”

Emma tries to follow the conversation, she really does, but when she hears that Kristoff is with Killian, all she wants to do is be where he is, now. She frantically stuffs everything back in her pack, unaware Anna has stopped talking or that the front door has opened once again.

She just needs to get to him and everything will be alright. She’s sure of it.

“Anna, you need to tell me where he is.”

She is met with silence.

She looks up to find Anna watching her with that same soft smile. One she doesn’t have time for.

“Swan.”

She drops everything. Her bag lands with a loud thump, falling precariously close to the end table, rattling the tea cup and saucer but she pays no mind because he’s there. Killian is in the lobby, eyes a little wild and hair even wilder. His chest heaves with quick breaths as they stare at each other.

“Killian,” she says with relief, with a small gasp before her feet are moving her across the room. He keeps them both upright when she reaches him, wrapping her arms around his neck, lips meeting in a hard desperate kiss.

His arms come around her, and hold her tightly, as she changes the angle of the kiss, wanting more, breathing him in. She only pulls a breath length away, hands gripping the collar of his jacket, eyes closed, words rushing out.

“How, how did you find me?”

“I’ve been to every hostel in the city, some twice and when I found Anna and K--” his explanation breaks off on a laugh as she peppers his face with kisses.

“You really found me,” her voice comes softer, surprise tinting her words and she watches as he turns pensive, eyes searching hers for the words she isn’t using.

He cups her face, thumb catching fresh tears on her cheeks, gently wiping them away.

“Of course. I will always find you. Did you doubt I would?”

She doesn’t want to say yes, or to admit to all the fears and worries that had threatened to overwhelm her, not when he had been looking for her as frantically as she, but he must have read it as clear as day on her face. He has always teased her about being an open book. 

“Emma, where did you think I went?”

She opens her mouth but how does she explain such a thing? Her grip on his jacket tightens and she tries again to explain that there is a little voice that whispers to her when she is at her most vulnerable. One that tells her she isn’t good enough to keep anyone around for very long, one that tells her she doesn’t deserve him, but the words don’t come. She also wants to tell him how badly she wants to fight that little voice, how she didn’t want it to be true with him.

The front door opens and a group of young women tumble in, carrying with them their giggles and a current of cold air.

Emma shivers, tucking herself against Killian. His hand drops to her back, running up and down.

“Emma, you soaked through, sweetheart. Let’s get you dry.”

She buries her nose into his shirt, breathing in the warm, familiar scent of him.

“I’m fine.”

Another shiver and he tuts in disapproval, and she is grateful for the distraction from his question, for him not pushing it further, for now.

“We have to find a place to stay. They might have rooms here, we can ask,” she whispers as the girls pass and disappear up a staircase, dropping them into silence once again.

“I’ve booked us a hotel, with an ostentatiously large comfortable bed, eternal hot water, and room service. Come on,” he explains, finding her hand against his chest and giving it a squeeze.

“But? Why?”

He shakes his head and leans down to capture her lips in a slow, sure kiss. She chases after his lips when he finally pulls away, and looks up at him with heavy lidded eyes.

“I never want you to wonder where we’ll be sleeping again. We’ll keep it for as long as you want.”

“Killian,” she whispers, a touch of awe.

His lips brush her forehead before dropping her hand and walking over to wear she left her bag. He hikes it onto his back and comes back to join her, lending his hand out to her.

“Let’s set sail, love.”

She grabs on tightly but takes a last glance around.

“Wait, where’s Anna?”

“She slipped out with Kris. We’ll meet up with them tomorrow.”

Emma nods to herself but glances quickly towards the front desk. She finds the clerk, watching her over his book.

“Thank you, so much. Especially for the tea.”

He smiles and nods.

“Any time, the door is always opened.”

She leaves him with a last smile and lets Killian guide them to their hotel, never once letting go of her hand.

**xo**

The room is only dimly lit by the small bedside lamp, casting a golden glow across the white duvet. The curtains are drawn tight, blocking the outside world from intruding in and muting the late night sounds. The quiet calm, only disrupted by the central air kicking on in a cyclical fashion. Emma takes it all in with long, slow looks and deep even breaths.

She sits crossed-legged in the middle of the king-sized bed, comfortably sinking into plush blankets. Her skin is pink from the hot water, fingers a little wrinkled from the generous amount of time she took in the shower and her hair sits in a messy bun a top her head. She is wrapped in a thick terry cloth robe, practically disappearing into the soft cotton and in no hurry to get dressed.

She spots her bag across the room, slumped on a chair and knows she could find something dry to sleep in but she doesn’t want to. All she wants to do is to crawl under the covers, feel the warmth of Killian’s skin against hers and sleep for days, but that would require Killian being back by her side.

She listens and hears the water still running in the bathroom, he too choosing to luxuriate in the first real shower they’ve had in a long time.

She’d tried to convince him to join her, but for once he stood his ground.

“If you’re in there with me, my mind will only be focused on one thing.”

She’d pouted but followed him into the large bathroom.

“But,” she’d tried but he simply silenced her with kiss.

“Most importantly, we need to warm you up and then we can have a nice chat.” 

He turned the water on and the bathroom slowly filled with steam. Satisfied he’d turned and helped rid her of her wet clothes. Each layer he’d peeled away, he’d kissed a new spot. Her shirt came off, a kiss to her shoulder. He knelt while pulling her leggings down, he’d pressed his lips to the jut of her hip, warm breath lingering as he looked up. He’d given her a little amused head shake as she whispered please.

“Come here, just for a second,” she’d tried a new tactic and pulled him up. Her naked self, deliciously pressed to his clothed front.

She’d kissed him hard, feeling him hard. She’d sighed and it had been his turn to shiver.

“Emma,” he’d warned. “This is why,” he’d added, closing his eyes, and taking a deep breath before pulling away and pulling back the shower curtain.

“In you go. I’ll call for room service so it’s here when you get out.” 

She’d finally reluctantly agreed and here she is now, waiting for him.

She spies the plate of goodies besides her and while she really isn’t that hungry, she can’t resist the hot chocolate, a sprinkle of cinnamon still decorating the top of the whipped cream.

And that’s how he finds her, in the middle of the bed, hands wrapped tightly around a mug, mid-sip.

When he hesitates at the edge of the room, clad only in boxer briefs, she finishes her sip and drops the mug on the end table, licking her lips and encouraging him to join her.

It doesn’t take much convincing before he’s pulling the covers back, settling against the headboard and before he can protest or explain why it’s not a good idea, she’s straddling his lap, her shy smile quieting any words of concern. 

Her fingers trace his features, tucking a damp lock of hair behind his ear.

“You’re sure you won’t eat anything?” he asks, eyeing the barely touched plate.

She shakes her head slowly, finger tips running along the shell of his ear, down his neck and resting over his heart.

She likes that it beats just as wildly as hers.

“And you’re warm enough now?” he asks, hand running up under her robe to rest on her thigh. 

A nod.

He gives her a wry smile.

“So am I going to have to guess why you were so surprised I found you? Or was it that I was looking for you at all? Or are you going to tell me?”

Her eyes leave his lips and look up, worried she is going to find a trace of anger or disappointment but what she finds is a smile and patience and something that might be love. She thinks of the words on her postcard.

And thinks it might be time to be a little brave.

“I -- for a moment I thought maybe you left. That you realized what a mess I was. That you’d had enough and it was the perfect out.”

“Emma, I’m not going anywhere.”

She looks for the lie and doesn’t see any.

“We could teach surfing in Doolin and eat fish and chips at that little diner every night,” he offers with a squeeze to her thigh.

“You were terrible at surfing.”

He shrugs, not offended.

“Eh, I was improving by the end.”

That gets a laugh out of her and a thought pops into her head, her own suggestion.

“We could run boat tour in Dingle.”

“And visit with Fungie every day,” he finishes for her, inciting another laugh.

But soon she falls quiet, eyes on her hands in her lap.

“Or,” she starts and stops.

He parts her robe just a bit and rest his warm hand over her frantically beating heart, her next suggestions on the very tip of her tongue.

“Or? Or what, Emma? Your heart is racing. Tell me.”

“Or we could go back to Storybrooke?” she finally asks, voice small, full of nerves, eyes downcast but his hand leaves her heart and trails up her neck, tipping her chin up.

“Okay.”

Emma blinks, the word barely registering. It couldn’t be that easy, could it?

“Just like that?” she asks.

“What did you think I was going to say?”

“You just -- you’ve never mentioned it.”

“Neither have you.”

“Killian.”

“Emma.”

She huffs and attempts to move off but his hand and wrist fall to her hips, keeping her in place.

“You just, you talk of all these exotic and extraordinary places that you’ve already been to and all these new places you want to see. But you’ve never once mentioned anything in the US, never mind Storybrooke.”

Now he does look at her like she’s at least a little crazy, so she forges on.

“I know Storybrooke may not be as glamorous as Rome or Bali or wherever, but I need to go back.”

“Emma, those are all places we can visit someday if we want to, but now? I just assumed I’d be going back with you. Did you not think I would be by your side? I’ll follow you anywhere, if you’ll have me.”

He looks away and seems to contemplate his next words.

“And perhaps I’ve been a little reluctant to talk about leaving because in one way, it means saying goodbye to Liam but--”

“It doesn’t!” she interrupts, cupping his face, passionate, sure of her statement and he smiles, turning his head to kiss her palm. “This is definitely not goodbye. This trip felt like a beginning and he’ll always be with you and any trip we take.”

“Thank you, I hope that’s true but that’s only part of what I need to explain. Perhaps you aren’t the only one with fears, Emma. I’ve quietly held onto my own worries, that you may not want me--” before he can finish his statement she covers his mouth with her hand.

“Take that back.”

And she doesn’t move her hand away until she sees the smile reach his eyes and the rumble of a chuckle in his chest.

“So does that mean you’ll have me?” he asks, hand slipping down to the knot in her robe. 

“Of course.”

His fingers deftly undo the loose knot, warm hand parting her robe further, slipping it off her shoulders to pool around her waist.

“When do we leave?” he asks, moving closer, mouth finally, finally, moving along the curve of her neck, bringing goosebumps in its wake.

“Not right now.”

She feels his smile as his lips reach her jaw and move to her ear.

“How long do we have this room for again?” she asks, her voice grows softer with each press of his lips. She arches as he cups her breast, fingers finding her nipple, teasing, pinching and making her gasp.

“As long as you like.”

“A few days then, just you and me.”

Her hips rock slowly.

And she feels his groan against the curve of her shoulder before he flips them, hovering over her.

“As you wish,” he whispers as she helps him with his boxers, lowering them over his hips.

He moves against her, where she’s wet and aching for him.

“I’m sorry for running,” she whispers, voice tight with emotion.

He shakes his head, before capturing her lips, grounding her.

He pulls back, finding her eyes before sliding home, they both groan.

“You’ve nothing to be sorry. We’re here now, that’s all that matters.”

He pulls out before sliding back, stealing her breath and taking them late into the night, together.

**xo**

The next few days tumble into a week, and while she would like to say they visited all the sights, explored Dublin, got lost in history and legend, in reality they barely left the room. They rarely got dressed for that matter and it was more than okay.

They did manage to see Anna and Kris once, where Emma pulled Anna aside and thanked her for everything.

And they did get dressed to taste some whiskey at the Jameson Distillery before tumbling back into bed, a little warm, a little drunk and full of laughs that melt into moans.

But catching her breath on her final days in Dublin, Emma thinks that she might remember those days and nights caught up in each other, just as clearly as some of the most beautiful cliffs and ancient castles.

She’ll remember the comfort she felt, waking up each day, knowing there was no end no matter what happened next.

It’s this comfort that allowed her to finally pick up the phone and reach out to David and Mary Margaret. With Killian by her side, nodding encouragingly, it had been easier to not hang up when someone picked up after the first ring. It was his hand in hers that helped her apologize for taking so long to call and when Mary Margaret had protested immediately, telling Emma to take all the time she needed, it was his smile that had her asking if they could and meet and talk when she got back home.

“Any time, any where, anything you need. Oh, thank you, Emma,” Mary Margaret had whispered and Emma had known it was finally time.

They booked their flight the next day.

And as their plane climbs higher and higher into the sky, and Dublin slowly disappears from view, she knows they’ll be back again one day.

“Okay?” he whispers as they reach cruising altitude. Emma casts a last look out the window before pulling down the shade.

“Perfect. Just tired.”

“Sleep then, I’ll be here when you wake.”

She drops her head to his shoulder and does just that.

**xo**

“So this is where Emma Swan calls home,” Killian says as she lets them into her little apartment, flicking on a light and breathing in the familiar smell. She glances back to him as he drops his bag and kicks off his shoes.

“I think wherever you are is home.”

She says and quickly retreats further into the house, shaky hands holding the flowers that were on her doorstep when they arrived. She had told Mary Margaret and David when they were getting in and they had kindly sent a welcome home gift.

It was surreal. She couldn’t believe things were going this smoothly, that maybe she was allowed to be this lucky.

“Swan, are these all the postcards you wrote?”

His voice is distracted, far away. She freezes as she fills a vase with water but then after a beat she lets out a slow breath.

“Unless someone else was sending me post cards.”

“Will you allow me the honor of reading them?”

She smiles at his words and then thinks of what saying yes would mean.

Should he? So many of her truths are on there. So many words to him. Now that she thinks of it, they weren’t so much postcards as love letters to Killian.

“Now?”

“Mmm,” comes his distracted reply, maybe already glancing at the back. Although she knows if she says no, he’ll drop it. It’s that truth that makes her say yes. 

“Sure, go for it. I’ll just be in my room, second door on the right,” she finally responds, not like he won’t be able to find her in the small space.

She thinks maybe she can unpack, maybe she should shower, maybe -- maybe she can’t do anything until he comes to find her or she hears the front door slam shut after he runs away. She shakes the image right out of her head. She knows he won’t do that but what will he think?

Minutes pass and she settles at the edge of the bed, lying back and letting her legs dangle over the edge. She counts her breaths in an attempt to stay calm. After awhile she hears his quiet footfalls down the hall, until they come to a stop in her room.

“Emma,” he whispers but she can’t bring herself to move. She closes her eyes and he walks in further. She feels him standing at the edge of the bed, knees brushing her bent ones.

“Is it too much?”

She peeks up at him through one eye.

“You’re impossible,” he mutters in the most loving way possible and then he tells her to wait and disappears. She hears him unzip his bag and rummage around.

He comes back, still only her postcards visible in his hand.

“I love all of these. Thank you for letting me see a little glimpse into your thoughts but I have to admit, there is one I like one most of all.”

He holds up the last one, the one holding the words ingrained in her mind. She holds her breath.

“I do, I do,” he echoes the last line to her and she scrambles to sit up.

“You do?” she whispers, her question imbued with hope, with awe.

“I do. I love you too.”

She’s not going to cry again, she not going to -- he tosses the postcards onto the bed, scattering beside her and reaches into his pocket.

“Whoa.”

He smiles indulgently, fingers holding a small black velvet box.

_Holy shit._

“Calm down, Swan. I’m not proposing but this is a promise. That it’s you and me, Emma, as long as you’ll have me. I don’t want you to worry about --”

“Yes.”

His words trail off and his eyebrow pops up, a grin she loves so much, pulling at his lips.

“Swan?”

“I’m not worried, not about you. It’s you and me.”

He opens the box and gently removes the ring, and even though it’s not a proposal, when he slips the delicate claddagh ring on her finger, she knows it’s forever.

“I’m so glad you found me.”

“Always.”

“And not just that day in Dublin.”

“I know, Swan and I’m pretty sure you found me too.”

He kisses her again and again, following her onto the bed.

She cups his face, pulling back long enough to make sure she has his attention. 

“I love you.”

“And I you.”

She pulls him down again, vowing to never ever let go.

**Notes for the Chapter:**

> My goodness. That’s it. 
> 
> Thank you for reading, I loved writing these two and to know you loved them too, well that's just the cherry on top. Thanks for coming along on their journey. 
> 
> It’s possible I may write a peek into their future because I don’t want to say goodbye yet but... we’ll see.
> 
> Have I said thank you! <3


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